


Game Theory

by not_poignant



Series: The Fae Tales Verse [2]
Category: Fae Tales - not_poignant, Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, Original Work, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Aftercare, Angst, BDSM, Bloodplay, Breathplay, Child Abuse, Damaged Characters are Damaged, Dark, Disturbing Themes, Family Abuse, Family Issues, Force Feeding, Forced Comfort, Forced Orgasm, Hopeful Ending, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Hydrophilia, Id Fic, Imprisonment, Injury, King and Captive, King of Suck, Knifeplay, M/M, Mind Control, Minor Character Death, Murder, Orgasm Denial, PTSD, Painplay, Porn With Plot, Power Play, Public Humiliation, Questionable Consent, Role Reversal, Rough Sex, Sassmaster Augus, Self Harm, Somnophilia, Soul Bond, Sounding, Spanking, Suicidal Ideation, Torture, Touch-Starved, Unconventional Cock Rings, Violence, references to past abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2017-12-22 16:12:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 46
Words: 426,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/915296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_poignant/pseuds/not_poignant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six months after Gwyn's defeat of the once Unseelie King, Augus Each Uisge - and decades after their first encounter - Gwyn has the fae waterhorse and ex-King of the Unseelie locked down in a cell, beneath the Seelie Court. In a difficult position himself, ruling an unwanted throne and waiting out the years between now and the time he can step down as King, Gwyn finds himself unable to stay away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the tags / warnings.
> 
> *
> 
> Set 6 months after the defeat of Augus Each Uisge, in [Into Shadows We Fall.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/766729/chapters/1437098) Set a significant few _decades_ after the events of _Deeper into the Woods_. 
> 
> *
> 
>  
> 
> **Notes for the people who came here from Deeper into the Woods:**
> 
>  
> 
> * I apologise for the drop in quality, I started _Game Theory_ a good three years before _Deeper into the Woods_ and it was only ever intended to be a handful of chapters that had a messy beginning because I was - at the time - not really planning on this becoming a series. So the beginning of this story is weak and confusing (though I've added a prologue recently - Jan 2016 - in the hopes it will assist in the transition) if you did not come here from the fanfiction series that preceded it. However, I personally believe the quality improves over the course of the fic and becomes a great deal more solid as the writing goes along - you'll also find out more about how these characters got to where they're at as the story progresses. I'm not saying the writing is ever fantastic, but I do think it improves. :) 
> 
> * I will understand if that's not good enough to continue reading - but it has been explained to me that those who have the patience to keep reading (or who jump and read ahead) will eventually find the things between Gwyn and Augus they appreciated in _Deeper into the Woods_ ), and there are a lot of people who adore this messy story for what it is. That will probably mean nothing to you though.
> 
> * This story was initially intended to follow on from a fanfiction series I wrote even longer ago, which you can find here among my works. I always wanted to edit this to make it completely original, but right now the time investment (while I am writing fresher, more recent original works, as well as another installment in this universe) is too much.
> 
> * Some of you are coming here from Goodreads, I think? And you're probably (maybe) used to reading formally published materials written to formal publication standards - this is not that. This was initially written for a world of fandom, in a fandom format, for AO3 people, and I'm totally fine if you hate this - a lot of people have, and that doesn't bother me. But I'd appreciate if folks could take into consideration the context in which this story was generated. _Deeper into the Woods_ and works that came after _Game Theory_ were written with far more attention to pacing and reaching a non-AO3 audience, but this story - and I love it dearly - was more like a messy, ridiculous re-entry into the world of writing original fiction, and it is about as smooth sailing as Gwyn and Augus' love story is. ;)
> 
>  
> 
> [THERE IS A PODFIC - chapters 1-26 complete.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10427088/chapters/23023017)
> 
>  
> 
>  **Standard disclaimer:** Id Fics do not represent healthy real world relationships of any kind, which I think most of you know, but please don't base relationship (and/or) BDSM practices on two fae with supernatural healing abilities and extreme kinks. This also features kink as healing, or transformative kink, which some people find distasteful. Consider yourself warned.

When the Oak King proclaimed the new fae era, the ‘Season of Turning,’ we all assumed it would be a time of positive change, of growth. We are, after all, the stuff of fairytales, and we clapped ourselves on the backs for all the hardships we’d endured and looked forward to a better future.

We had our wars, battles and skirmishes, but we had many good things too. And to some, war was a very good thing anyway. We were prosperous. We had been gulled into thinking it would only get better. The Season of Turning, it held promise.

I’m certain some of us suspected the Oak King was wrong, folly though it might be to doubt the Seelie King of all that was good and light aloud. But none of us could have predicted a world turned to chaos and rust.

First, a creature who called himself the Nightmare King appeared, ruler of the darkest fears, able to see into the hearts of all and turn their lives to terror. He fancied himself a collector of fine things, if only to break them, and so he sought the esteemed Each Uisge – who styled himself ‘Augus,’ and stole him away to his underground lair.

There, horrors unspoken occurred, and when the Each Uisge returned twelve months later, he was sorely corrupted and sought power as he never had in almost all three thousand years of his life. He abandoned his vocation and ingratiated himself to the Raven Prince, eventually overthrowing him through means unknown.

Augus Each Uisge became the King of the Unseelie, with no view to making his Kingdom greater. A once-beloved member of the Raven Prince’s Unseelie Court, and a fine diplomat, was corrupted and filled with poison, unleashing a reign of terror, uncaring if he hurt Seelie or Unseelie both. With the assistance of the horrid Nain Rouge, the frightening Jenny Greenteeth, and the Dullahan, he worked to render the fae realms as barren as the Nightmare King seemed to want them. He poisoned lakes and rivers after having once been their nurturer, he trailed with him the Blight that caused freshwater fae to sicken and starve.

So the wars were not yet over, the Season of Turning not yet done with us.

A hero, then, was needed.

Gwyn ap Nudd, the Oak King’s War General and stoic warrior was nominated by the Oak King himself to be successor to the Seelie throne. Though many were unsure how he would manage a Court previously associated with leisure and frolicking, too many Seelie fae wished for the threat that was the Nightmare King and the Each Uisge to be eliminated.

With the assistance of a small band of unlikely fae – isn’t that always the way, in fairytales? – at a time when all seemed lost, and the fae world had begun to fragment and fritter away into nothing, Gwyn ap Nudd defeated the Nightmare King once and for all.

But Gwyn ap Nudd, unsuited to ruling a Court of leisure, was very suited to warfare and combat. It did not matter that Gwyn ap Nudd and the Each Uisge had once been friends, had even once conducted the Wild Hunt together, side by side. Eventually, with the help of the Each Uisge’s adopted brother, the Glashtyn, and a frost spirit named Jack, they tricked the evil Each Uisge into giving up the crown. The Glashtyn took up the Unseelie throne with a swan-maiden named Gulvi, the Each Uisge was tossed into a Seelie cell in the depths of the Seelie Court.

The fae realm was locked in a phase of unrest. The Each Uisge was imprisoned, but not dead. The Nightmare King was gone, but his legacy had left scars upon the world and the minds within it. Gwyn ap Nudd led the Seelie fae into a new realm; a martial realm of bloodshed. With no obvious villains to fight, and not warming to a life of luxury, he withdrew into himself and his Court, even as the Unseelie Court began to fragment away into weakness and unrest.

There are stories about heroes, and then there are stories about the madness that can befall heroes, that can turn even the strongest into dust. That can turn the Each Uisge to corruption, that can turn an Unseelie King into a fallen captive, and a Seelie King into his uncertain captor.

It was, after all, the Season of Turning.

 

**~ Old Pete, storyweaver.**


	2. Retribution

Gwyn walked slowly down the spiral staircase set deep into the trunk of a giant oak tree that lay on the outskirts of the Seelie Court. No one followed him. No one was around. None of the Seelie fae particularly liked this area of the Court, where the dungeon lay, where interrogations had once been held by the Oak King. Gwyn and his Inner Court were the only fae who could enter the dungeon itself; the energy keyed to the people that Gwyn allowed.

The dungeon itself was underground, held together by the giant, sprawling roots of the oak tree. Rooms carved out of loam and dirt were dank, gnarled with roots and rock, lit with strange filaments of phosphorescent fungi. It was – for the most part – the only light in the dungeons at all.

Gwyn stalked down the long, dark corridor, passing room after empty room. He carried a thin length of rope in his pockets, along with other things that he thought he might need. He walked all the way to the end of the corridor. At the end, the final cell had been reserved for someone who had once been King.

Augus didn’t even bother looking up, though he sat on a tree root jutting out of the dirt wall with a casualness that belied his circumstance. His hair hadn’t grown, it still dripped with water – but more slowly now. He had been deprived of his own lake for over six months, and now he was wasting the same way he’d forced many other fae to waste away. He was far too powerful to waste quickly, even as underfae; it was a process that would take hundreds of years. But it was happening.  

Gwyn had tried to put Augus from his mind, once Augus was secure within the cells. For six months, he had focused on other things, as best as he could. But his mind kept drifting back to their history together, kept stumbling over the cold, seething rage he felt whenever he thought too much of the fae that Augus had killed indirectly. Gwyn had executed some of those fae himself, felt like nothing more than a hired executioner, finishing the dirty work that Augus wouldn’t finish as he laid waste to the Kingdoms.

And if he was angry at himself for not finding a way to solve the chaos earlier, for not subduing Augus years ago, he shoved it aside. He couldn’t afford it. Augus was too dangerous, too powerful even as underfae, even wasting in a cell.

Gwyn was well within his rights to make sure that Augus couldn’t attack anyone, ever again.

‘How are you finding your accommodations?’ Gwyn said coldly.

‘I could use a glass of water, perhaps,’ Augus said, hiding his expression behind a curtain of hair.

‘We’ll see what we can do about that. Perhaps I’ll ask one of the water wights about it. I’m sure they’d consider lending you some.’

‘In about three hundred years,’ Augus said, and Gwyn could hear the smug smile in his voice. Yes, even Augus was aware that he had no friends amongst his fellow water wights. About three hundred years was an accurate estimation of how long it would take for Augus to waste to nothingness, to evaporate.

‘Your brother might,’ Gwyn said, and his jaw clenched in satisfaction when Augus looked up at him. His eyes were a luminous green. His face wan.

‘I don’t want to see him.’

Gwyn stepped through the barrier of energy into Augus’ cell, padding quietly across the loamy floor. It wasn’t rock or dirt or tree roots that kept Augus trapped, but the energy of the Court itself, imbued in the walls. To the naked eye, it looked as though Augus could simply step out of the small, dim cavern in which he found himself. But he was unable to leave, unable to dig his way free.

No one had visited him in six months. Once Gwyn was sure Augus had regained consciousness, he’d left Augus alone, and advised his Inner Court do the same; not that Ondine or Albion were interested in visiting him. Augus was old enough and developed enough as a fae, that he didn’t need food. He didn’t need water. Ostracism was a powerful weapon. In the dungeons he would be secure, but he could be forgotten. Not that anyone was in a hurry to forget. Many fae still had no idea why Augus had been kept alive.

Gwyn wasn’t even sure why he’d kept Augus alive. Except that once, things had been different between them. There’d been something there...

Gwyn stared down at Augus, feeling the breadth of his anger, the coldness of his rage.

He struck out with his fist, but instead of striking him, he fisted his hand into Augus’ hair and dragged him off the tree root bench, forcing him down to the ground. Augus resisted automatically, but he was no match for Gwyn’s strength. Not demoted and weakened as he was. This wasn’t a matter of King against King, but King against underfae. Augus could be mortally wounded, he _could,_ eventually, die from starvation or thirst.

Gwyn stared with some satisfaction. His fist in Augus’ hair was enough to keep him down on the ground.

‘Gwyn, _stop this,’_ Augus said, compulsion heavy in his voice.

But the compulsion didn’t work. It did nothing more than let Gwyn know that Augus was concerned.

‘Your centre is still domination,’ Gwyn said, voice cool. He bent down and placed his fingers into the collar of Augus’ damp shirt, pulled hard at the material until it gave and ripped, exposing skin that was paler without exposure to sunlight. ‘So I suppose you won’t enjoy this much.’

Augus was unresisting, but as Gwyn pulled the shirt down his arms and left it hanging ragged off Augus’ elbows, Augus spoke quietly.

‘So it is to be rape then.’

‘I’m surprised that you, of all people, would have a problem with _that._ ’

He fisted his hand harder in Augus’ hair, until a couple of ropes of waterweed came loose. Augus didn’t make a sound, even though the waterweed was sensitive, alive, attached to his scalp.

Gwyn pulled the length of rope from his pocket, and let go of Augus’ hair in order to pull both of Augus’ hands behind his back, tying them at the wrists. He didn’t care for his comfort, and more for the surety that Augus couldn’t get free. He’d never done anything like this before in his life, but it didn’t mean that he didn’t know how, that he didn’t understand the basics of it. His father had given him scrolls from a young age; the fastest ways to break a prisoner of war, crude though they may be.

‘But it doesn’t have to be unpleasant for you, Augus,’ Gwyn said, trailing a gentle hand across the back of his neck. Augus bowed forward, away from the touch, and Gwyn leaned closer and repeated the gesture. Augus bowed even further away, unsettling his centre of gravity, head almost touching the floor.

‘If you are going to do this, then do it,’ Augus said, his voice surprisingly smooth for someone who hadn’t used it – as far as Gwyn knew – for months. ‘You have always been all talk, no follow-through. That’s why you needed someone to master you, all that time ago. That’s why you-’

Gwyn pushed Augus’ face down into the ground with one hand, and with the other he pulled down Augus’ pants, baring him. Having an almost naked body beneath him, even like this, felt good. And he didn’t allow any room for regret, or second thoughts, knowing what Augus had done, knowing he was well within his rights to take this from him. Knowing that Augus knew that too.

‘I did need someone to master me. And you did a good job, back then. Perhaps I took some notes. Perhaps I think you need the same now. You are fortunate that I am here, paying you mind, because no one else wants to. Your brother hasn’t even-’

‘ _Gwyn,’_ Augus said, a warning and a pleading all at once. A statement that clearly said; _That’s out of bounds and you know it._

But Augus had never played by Gwyn’s rules, had never left things untouched because Gwyn had asked. Once, Gwyn had gone to Augus for help, and Augus had bound him, bled him, forced him to consume flesh and reminded him that Gwyn had done the same to others. He’d forced Gwyn into the horror of his own crimes and made Gwyn _like_ it. Once, Gwyn had left that house within the lake and been – incredibly – of more sound mind than when he’d arrived.

But things were not like that now.

'He’s looking well, your brother. Co-King of the Unseelie Court.’

Augus made a sound of distress and it stirred Gwyn to full hardness. He pulled the vial of lubricant out of his pocket and Augus laughed beneath him, face against the ground, when he heard the pop of the lid coming off.

‘You _planned_ this? _You?’_ Augus sounded a mixture of incredulous and amused. He did not sound horrified, he didn’t sound perturbed. It unnerved Gwyn to have Augus like this, underfae and beneath him, still sounding so calm, so unruffled.

Gwyn didn’t dignify him with a response, only pulled his own breeches down, knelt, pressed his chest into Augus’ back. The action forced Augus’ arms against his spine, placed pressure so that Augus’ face was kept against the dirt. Augus’ breath shuddered out on a second, silent laugh, though he tested the rope at his wrists then, and Gwyn could feel the tension in his body.

Gwyn dripped lubricant across his fingers, slicked himself up before pressing a finger into Augus with no preamble. Augus, beneath him, tensed and hissed. Gwyn drew in a shaky breath, astounded at his own audacity, aware that...this was not something he had ever thought himself capable of. The war had changed something in him. He _hoped_ it was the war. Perhaps the dormant family madness...

Gwyn grit his teeth and moved his finger back and forth, feeling heat and tightness around him. He withdrew and pressed back with two, and Augus didn’t react. If it weren’t for the vice of him around Gwyn’s fingers, he would have sworn that Augus wasn’t affected by it at all.

If there was ever a fae that Gwyn was sure would find his way out of the dungeon; Augus was probably it. Gwyn used this fact, along with a bevy of other reasons, to wall himself away from the part of himself that would have been horrified. That part of himself was too soft, was not permissible. Certainly not down here. Certainly not now.

There was a hardness inside of him and he fell into it, finding the solace of cruelty and certainty.

‘Maybe next time, I can invite Pitch. I’m sure he can summon up a measure of the Nightmare King for you. You’d probably like that though, wouldn’t you?’

Augus’ eyes opened, his whole body jolted as if struck. He tried to tilt his head so that he could see Gwyn more clearly, but Gwyn pushed harder with his whole body, forced him down. He withdrew his fingers and took himself in hand, pressing himself against Augus’ entrance.

A sudden wave of nausea rocked him and he grit his teeth together, shoved it aside. He wanted this, he’d come down here specifically to do this, to take from the spoils of war as any King might.

‘Second thoughts?’ Augus taunted, and Gwyn bared his teeth in a snarl.

He bit hard at Augus’ shoulder, scraping his teeth over flesh. It was good, like this. It was good to have the waterhorse beneath him, restrained and weak. Augus wasn’t one to tremble, wasn’t one to make obvious his feelings of fear, but Gwyn knew that he was getting to him. Knew enough about wild creatures to know when they were wary, to know when he was getting his point across.

He stretched his slicked hand underneath Augus’ pelvis, took his limp member in a firm grip and started a persistent, merciless rhythm.

Augus’ breathing remained calm and steady for almost two minutes. Two minutes of almost silence, only the sound of Gwyn’s hand moving and his own rough breathing filling the room. He remained pressed at his entrance, imagined how good it would feel to sink deep, teased himself with the promise of _soon._

Almost imperceptibly, Augus shivered. Once. He began to harden in Gwyn’s grip. His breathing went from an easy evenness, to a slight pause between the inhale and exhale, as though Augus was having to force his breathing to remain steady.

‘Don’t waste your time on niceties, now,’ Augus said, voice deeper, and Gwyn bit more deeply into Augus’ shoulder, nearly breaking the skin, smiling when Augus’ cock jumped in his hand.

‘I’m down here wasting my time with you,’ Gwyn said, pulling harder, gripping tighter. Augus made a strangled sound beneath him, his fingers twitched. Gwyn supposed it must hurt. He wasn’t being nice about it. But Augus was still hard, and Gwyn was determined to see this through, would take what he wanted, however he could get it. ‘So wasting my time on a nicety like this seems almost trifling, compared to that.’

He didn’t announce himself, he didn’t give warning. He dug his other hand into Augus’ hip and pushed his cock into tightness, squeezing his eyes shut. His mouth bit down once more and he tasted Augus’ blood against his teeth and lips, even as Augus bucked against him. Gwyn growled deep in his throat, sheathed himself fully in one demanding, brutal thrust. Augus surprised him. He did cry out. He began to tremble in his grip. He stayed hard in Gwyn’s fingers. Even as his hips shifted to get away, even as Gwyn kept him in place with the hand on his hip.

He pushed his forehead into Augus’ back, took a moment to decide what he wanted next. He could do anything, like this.

‘Feel that?’ Gwyn said, grinding against him. ‘You’re very tight. Does it hurt?’

‘Do you _honestly_ think pain bothers me?’ Augus gasped, and Gwyn rocked against him, staying deep, enjoying the trembling. He wished he had Augus’ finesse with this, with the breaking of someone. But he only had himself. And he was a blunt tool, a coarse warrior.

But then, maybe that’s what it would take in order to break someone as sophisticated as Augus apart. Maybe that’s exactly what would get under the skin of the aristocratic bastard that he used to care so much about.

Gwyn removed his hand from around Augus’ cock and grasped his other hip, not caring if he hadn’t roused Augus to completion.

'Something tells me you’re about to fuck me like some common, boorish _idiot,’_ Augus managed, condescension dripping from a voice that was more shaky than Augus probably would have liked.  Gwyn laughed. He drew back slowly, savouring the tightness. When the head of him was resting just inside Augus’ entrance, he reached down with both hands and spread Augus’ legs wider, hungry and finding himself losing his wits faster than he would have liked.

‘Like a common, boorish idiot,’ Gwyn agreed, keeping Augus’ legs apart with his own, when he went to pull them back together. ‘But here you are on your knees, bound. Letting some common idiot reduce you to this. Say what you want, Augus, but the only person you’re fucking over is yourself.’

Gwyn snapped his hips forwards, pulled Augus back into him. He snarled in triumph when Augus’ fingers splayed and his wrists tightened against the rope. He didn’t bother to hold back the laugh that sounded, deep in his chest. He wanted Augus to hear it, wanted him to know that once upon a time, his centre had been triumph and he reduced his enemies to cowering masses. That he may have changed, but no one _truly_ abandoned a centre once it had been a part of them.

His movements were punishing, rough, he sought after his own pleasure and opened his mouth hungrily as though he could lick the sounds that Augus was making and swallow them down. He wanted to pull them directly out of the air. Each one left him increasingly mindless, until he didn’t care anymore that it was Augus beneath him. Until he cared about nothing except chasing his own release.

He gasped loudly as he came, pressed himself deep, pushed Augus forwards until his shoulders jerked hard and Augus choked out whatever sound he had been about to make into the dirt beneath his face. Gwyn liked that too, he pushed harder, wondering if Augus could taste the loam beneath his lips.

As soon as he was done he withdrew quickly. He stood up, looked down at himself, saw no blood on his softening member and was surprised at the momentary flare of relief he felt at that. After all, Augus had practically crowed when he’d drawn blood from Gwyn; had laughed and said something about ‘fae healing’ and ‘get over it.’

He looked down at Augus, who hadn’t moved. Whose hands were still tied behind his back.

‘Get up,’ Gwyn said, as he pulled his own pants back up again. He could swim himself clean once he was out of the dungeon. He could enjoy the very quality of lake that Augus couldn’t.

Augus twisted awkwardly, until he could glower the full force of his fury up at Gwyn.

‘No,’ Gwyn said, reaching down and forcing his hand back into Augus’ hair. ‘I told you to _get up.’_

He dragged Augus upright to his knees, surprised to see that Augus was still hard. He touched his fingers to Augus’ member lightly, and then gazed at Augus as he tested the weight of him in the palm of his hand. He dragged Augus upright until he was standing, and almost smiled when he realised that Augus had difficulty finding his feet. He hadn’t stumbled, his knees hadn’t buckled, but Gwyn could tell.

‘I’m not like you, am I? Not at all like you. You broke me apart so quickly that I didn’t know what had happened, what came over me.’ Gwyn paused, remembering. When he looked back to Augus, he was surprised to see those green eyes staring at him avidly, bright with inexplicable emotion. ‘But I’m not like you. I don’t have the nous to break you down in a couple of nights.’

He stepped back and left Augus standing there, staring at him, pants around his ankles and a ripped shirt hanging off his elbows.

‘But I have the luxury of as many nights as I like, being King.’

Gwyn stepped out of the supernatural barrier that kept Augus contained, ran fingers through his hair, combing it out. He paused, looked up at Augus, at the way Augus watched the movements of his hands with a strange longing on his face.

_Waterhorse, of course._

Gwyn kept combing his fingers through his hair, making a show of it, knowing how much Augus liked it himself as a waterhorse, knowing how filthy he probably felt, having been away from water for so long.

He turned and walked away, and halfway down the long, dark corridor, he paused.

‘Perhaps I’ll see about getting you that glass of water,’ he called behind him.

He had the satisfaction of hearing a single shriek of rage as he made his way back up the spiral staircase.

*

He never allowed the impact of what he’d done to hit him properly. He felt tendrils of horror, of nausea creep in, and forced them down. He leaned hard into other, darker corners of his mind, knowing it was dangerous, knowing he had to avoid the family curse, knowing that if he let his old centre of triumph swim too close to the surface...

So he had planned, originally, to stay away for a week or two. He thought he could use the time to put his mind to rights. He thought, perhaps, he could teach the waterhorse a lesson; keep him mostly naked, arms tied behind his back. It would be a win-win situation. He could convince himself that the sickness he felt was connected to dealing with the Seelie Kingdom itself, their gossip and cloying ways; that it had nothing to do with his prisoner.

But he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. Hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the waterhorse in his cell, naked, face covered in dirt, hands behind his back. Hadn’t been able to stop thinking about how he’d left him there, hard and unsatisfied, and how _good_ that part had felt. So that evening he was surprised to be walking down the spiral staircase set into the giant oak again, a glass of water in one hand.

Augus was standing and waiting for him, a hungry look in his eyes. He must have been able to smell the fresh water from a distance. He didn’t even make eye contact as Gwyn approached, only stared at the glass, eyes wide and avid.

He stepped back quietly when Gwyn entered. He winced, slightly, and Gwyn pursed his lips.

‘Did I hurt you?’

Augus’ eyes widened in surprise, and then he looked at Gwyn like he was a particularly disappointing, amusing student.

‘And you were doing _so_ well. Given up already? Enquiring after my welfare?’ Augus laughed coldly. ‘You lasted less than twelve hours in this new role of yours. I expected at least a _day_ from you.’

Gwyn glared.

‘I was gauging how well I’d worked you over. If you’re still this articulate, I clearly haven’t hurt you enough,’ Gwyn said, putting the glass of water down out of Augus’ reach. When he turned back, he noticed Augus had stilled, was watching him with a wary measure of shock.

‘I recommend starting with blood,’ Augus said finally, composing his face, letting his eyes go liquid soft and inviting, even as Gwyn started to strip off his clothing. ‘Because why tease? That’s not your style, is it? Fuck them and run, apparently.’

Gwyn kicked off his boots, and then walked over, picked them up and set them down neatly by the entrance.

‘Maybe once you’re done with blood,’ Augus continued smoothly, ‘you can force me to lick the dirt off the soles of your feet. But that’s stretching your creativity isn’t it? Do you want me to feed you more ideas? I have more. Have you ever heard of sounding? Hmm, back when I had you in my own rooms, we never got to try that, did we? I could guide you through it, even. I’ve been told that-’

Gwyn picked up the glass of water and stared at Augus coldly. He poured some of the vital fluid to the floor.

‘ _No!’_ Augus shouted, and then quickly composed himself, but it was too late. That had been real panic. All signs of goading Gwyn had disappeared, and a flash of fear had passed over his face. Gwyn wondered what it felt like, to waste so slowly, to know that even a single glass of water could mean less pain, less of that awful knowledge that you were dying.

Gwyn raised the water to his lips and took a sip, carefully.

Augus’ face stayed composed, but there was a movement in the arms behind his back, as though his hands had clenched into fists.

‘I don’t need your ideas, clearly. Since you’re so eager to be a teacher, you should be proud of me, coming up with all of this on my own.’ Gwyn put the glass of water down again, noticed how Augus’ eyes tracked it. Frowning, he picked the glass up again.

He dipped his fingers into the water and stepped forwards. He thought he’d have to issue an order, thought Augus would refuse him, but Augus was apparently so desperate for the water that his mouth was already open and his eyes were squeezed shut, as though he couldn’t bear it, the waiting, the wanting.

Gwyn pushed three fingers deep into Augus’ mouth, wondering if he’d get bitten for the trouble.  Augus didn’t react at first, though his throat worked on the tips of his fingers. Slowly he closed his lips around Gwyn’s fingers, and then he sucked, tentatively. He swallowed the droplets of water down. When he was done, Augus simply opened his mouth again, kept his eyes closed. Waited.

Gwyn dipped his fingers back into the glass of water and pressed them back into Augus’ mouth, pushing down on his tongue, massaging the muscle. Augus made a pained moan, sucked hungrily at the water.

‘I was going to come down here and fuck you into submission. But I think instead,’ Gwyn withdrew his fingers, ‘I should just leave you down here for a hundred years and come back with some water, and then you’d do _anything_ I said, and all that cocky attitude would be gone.’

Augus’ eyes widened, he stared down at the glass of water and then looked at the side of his cell and laughed.

‘I suppose you didn’t need to start with blood after all. How quickly you’re picking up this game. Leave me then, for a hundred years. You’re probably right. Leave me for two hundred. You could collar me and leash me and have me crawl at your feet for sips of water. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Some Unseelie pet on his hands and knees, naked, and you could just slip yourself in at any time.’

Gwyn did like that image it painted in his mind’s eye. He liked that very much. He wondered at Augus’ game, though. He was very good at talking himself out of a situation, even without compulsion.

Gwyn set the glass of water down and folded his arms, stared at Augus thoughtfully.

‘I think you talk too much,’ he said, finally.

Before he’d left his own palatial rooms, he’d opened a wooden box by one of his many beds, and taken the first length of silk he could find; a black scarf of the stuff. He pulled it out of his pocket now. Augus would talk his way back into being the King of the Unseelie Court, given half the chance. Even without his compulsion, his voice was one of his most dangerous weapons.

He stepped towards Augus. Unexpectedly, Augus took a step backwards, staring at the silk, eyebrows knitting together.

‘More games?’ Gwyn said, smiling. ‘Pretending that of all of the things I could do, _this_ scares you?’

Gwyn stalked forwards quickly, following Augus down when he stumbled and fell over his own feet, landing hard on the arms tied behind his back. Augus was still kicking himself backwards as Gwyn knelt over him, intent.

‘I never did that to you,’ Augus said suddenly. ‘I wouldn’t do this to you. _You will stop this, right now!’_

The compulsion was strong, and Gwyn was surprised to hear it at all. Augus knew his compulsions were nothing to Gwyn, had only used them once so far. Gwyn hesitated for all of a second before he fisted his fingers into Augus’ hair and wrapped the scarf around his mouth twice before securing it with a simple knot behind his head. Augus’ eyes were wild, the whites showing, his nostrils flared.

Gwyn’s eyes narrowed.

Was it just a bluff? Likely it was. Augus stood a better chance of figuring out how to escape if he could keep his words about him. And he could pretend at fear as well as anyone else could.

He straddled Augus fully, settling his weight down.  He stared at the struggling waterhorse, at Augus’ pleading eyes, and then reached forwards and traced fingers along the scarf over his mouth. Augus shouted behind it, his head lifted up and thumped back to the floor.

‘I can almost believe you don’t like this,’ Gwyn said. ‘You’re very convincing.’

Augus nodded frantically, and Gwyn smiled.

‘Maybe I could take it off.’

Augus squeezed his eyes shut. Gwyn placed a bare palm against Augus’ chest. He felt Augus’ heart rate, eyes widening in surprise. A waterhorse’s heart rate was usually slow, far slower than normal. But this...

Gwyn realised it wasn’t a farce. He reached underneath Augus’ back, to feel for his tied hands, and then slid his fingers up to Augus’ pulse. He exhaled slowly at what he found.

Augus _was_ scared. Of everything that Gwyn could put him through, a single stretch of silk was undoing him.

‘Perhaps I could leave you here like this for two hundred years, and then collar you, and leash you, and then bring you up, _gagged,_ and see how obedient you would be then.’

Augus bucked underneath him frantically, he twisted himself until he landed on the arms behind his back badly, and his lungs heaved in pain. The moan he made was muffled against the fabric.

Every centre had its antithesis. Gwyn was reminded, abruptly, of Jack’s reluctance to train or sit in on meetings while his centre had been fun. He had remembered training with him, and how it had taken a complete role reversal to get him to even appreciate the merits of it. And staring down at Augus now, holding him in place, he wondered if he’d found the antithesis to Augus’ centre. He had always assumed that it was submission, but he realised he was wrong.  

Voicelessness, perhaps. Even those who submitted could still command their partner’s attention, holding their focus. But a creature with dominance as their centre, what could they dominate without a way of expressing themselves? Tied and gagged?

Gwyn swallowed, uncomfortably. He could have made a game of it. He could have asked for anything and he knew it. But the part of him that demanded justice could not tolerate this panicked, mindless creature beneath him.

He reached up and grasped the gag in his fingers, and Augus’ eyes snapped to his, leaking water, pupils blown.

He eased his hands around until he reached the knot and untied it, feeling Augus’ panicked huffs coming through his nose as he did so. He unwound the gag and pulled it back, surprised at how quickly it had been soaked with saliva. All those droplets of water, wasted. Perhaps that was the most convincing sign of all, even more than the racing heartbeat, even more than the pulse that had skittered so fast he almost couldn’t distinguish individual beats.

‘Don’t talk, otherwise I’ll put this back on you,’ Gwyn said sternly, and Augus stared at him, mouth open, gasping for air as though he’d been suffocated.

‘I had fae coming to me, dying, while you were the Unseelie King. They begged me to intervene with you, to take their homes back from you, because they were dying. Because _you_ wanted land and power for reasons that _still_ haven’t been explained. These were – in at least some cases – fae that you had hunted with, that you had shared wine with, that you had previously allowed within the sanctity of your _Kingdom._ You let them die. Some came to me to be killed before madness overtook them. You let them waste, as you are wasting. _’_

Augus’ eyes drifted sideways and then snapped back when Gwyn lifted the gag, threateningly.

‘You can’t even bluff your way out of this, can you? It’s too much for you. Can’t even pretend that it doesn’t horrify you to have your voice taken away. I suppose you didn’t expect me to discover this about you. Thinking I might start with blood. And then making you lick the soles of my feet. And then collaring. And leashing. And parading you in front of others. So that I could just slip right in at any time. Let’s not forget the basics though shall we? Even I know that it’s better to start with things like a blindfold. Like a gag.’

He pushed the fabric forward and Augus arched away from him, moving his head as far back as he could. He didn’t talk though. Didn’t say ‘stop’ or ‘don’t’ or use his compulsion. Gwyn remembered that he’d told Augus not to talk, remembered that the punishment for it was the gag.

‘You can answer direct questions,’ Gwyn said, and Augus’ eyes flashed angrily, but his body went limp as Gwyn withdrew the gag again.

‘Did you care about what you did to those fae?’ Gwyn said. He had to know.

Augus glared at him like he was stupid. Even terrified and shaking, he still managed to make Gwyn feel like he had the IQ of a trow.

‘ _No,’_ Augus rasped. ‘Did I care? No, I didn’t _care_ what I was doing to them. I let them into my _Kingdom,_ I hunted with them, I shared _wine_ with them. Maybe I even fucked some of them. What did they matter to me, truly?’

Gwyn was shocked to hear the response, having expected... anything except what Augus was offering him now, which seemed to be the truth.

‘You destroyed your own Court. You drove your brother away. You-’

‘Will you _stop_ bringing him-’

Gwyn raised the gag and pushed it forwards angrily, and Augus actually shrieked, twisted so hard that he almost unseated Gwyn. But whatever force he’d used in the attempt must have also wrenched his arms, because he fell back to the ground, shuddering, eyes closed.

‘I didn’t ask you a direct question,’ Gwyn said, and Augus nodded fervently.

‘As I was saying. _You drove your brother away._ I suppose I don’t need to say anything more than that. I’d ask you if it was worth it, but as you have tear tracks drying on your face, I think I know the answer. Any questions?’

‘Just fuck me and get it over with,’ Augus said, eyeing the gag. ‘Just...drink the water, I don’t care. Leave me down here for however long you want to leave me down here. You want to turn this into some _game,_ where you come back over and over again and break me, but you just finished this race early, as you finish _everything early._ What else have you got, Gwyn? Happy that you’ve reduced me to this in less than twenty four hours? I’m afraid I’m going to be boring from now on. You know how it is. Break them early, not much left after that.’

Gwyn said nothing, and Augus managed to slide his eyes away from the gag to make eye contact.

‘You know, this is usually the point where I start eating my prey,’ he whispered, a smirk in his tone, even though it wasn’t visible on his face.

‘You try my patience, Augus. It was you talking like this that got you gagged the first time.’

Augus swallowed, and then went completely boneless, exhaling through his nose.

‘Stay down,’ Gwyn said, and got up, wrapping the gag around his wrist like a rough bandage, making sure Augus could see it. He walked over to the glass of water and picked it up, brought it back with him and straddled Augus again, resting the glass on his chest. Augus stared at it and then looked away, as though he couldn’t bear for it to be so close and yet out of his reach.

‘Ask me for it, nicely,’ Gwyn said. ‘Go on, summon that aristocratic politeness that got you into such a position of power in the first place, you were able to depose the Raven Prince from his throne.’

Augus blanched. He looked down at the water again. He took a deep breath. Another.

‘Shining light of the Seelie Court, King of the Seelie Fae, if it would please you, consider giving this lowly, _demoted_ waterhorse some water.’

Gwyn smiled slowly, he felt himself harden. Yes, this was very good. This would do very nicely. And his centre was justice now, wasn’t it? He could find a measure of mercy, enough to see how prettily Augus would swallow that water down.

He lifted the glass up and Augus’ eyes widened impossibly, as though he couldn’t believe it had worked. He lifted his head as Gwyn brought the glass forward, he opened his mouth. He closed his eyes as the first drops of it trickled down and he made the smallest of sounds; a hungry, wanting sound.

‘Spread your legs,’ Gwyn said, as Augus kept swallowing down the water. His eyes opened, he looked at Gwyn with something of disdain in his eyes. Then he looked at the gag.

He spread his legs.

Gwyn drew away the glass and set it down, making sure Augus couldn’t reach it. He leant down and sniffed at his mouth, smelling loam and dirt and sweet, cool water. Smelling the rich scent of waterweed and ozone.

Gwyn cupped his hands around Augus’ face, stretched his thumbs up. He pressed them to the tear tracks underneath Augus’ eyes, reminded him of them, and Augus jerked in protest.

Gwyn withdrew his hands and slid down, pushing Augus’ thighs further apart, reaching for the vial of lubricant that was in his pocket. He slicked up his fingers, stroked them between Augus’ legs, making a line of slickness that started underneath his balls and stopped at his entrance. He pushed two fingers in, swallowing. Augus was still stretched from earlier and Gwyn decided that, actually, not waiting a week or two had been a very good idea.

Augus had his eyes closed, his mouth open. He looked wrecked already, the gag having broken down his defences far faster than six months of solitude and Gwyn forcing himself on him had.

He fucked his fingers into Augus quickly. He slowed down just long enough to find his prostate and rub the pads of his fingers over it, impatient. It was only when he did it a third time that he was surprised at himself. He hadn’t meant to do this for Augus’ pleasure, it wasn’t about that. He hadn’t even intended the gesture as an act of humiliation. He’d just...wanted to see if he could make him feel good. Gwyn cringed at himself.

‘Do you like this?’ Gwyn said, scissoring his fingers, watching Augus wince and then release a long, shuddering exhale.

‘You...know me. Slut of the...Unseelie fae, before...King.’

Gwyn added a third finger, stretched them out at Augus’ entrance, grinning when Augus groaned. He might have been around, slept with many, but he hadn’t slept with anyone in at least six months. He was satisfyingly tight.

Gwyn withdrew his fingers and wiped them down Augus’ torso. He reached down and brought one of Augus’ legs up, hooking it over his shoulder.  

‘I want to hear you,’ Gwyn said, holding the gag that was wrapped around his wrist over Augus’ face, and watching with satisfaction as Augus pressed his head back into the ground. ‘And if I don’t, you know I will use this.’

He sheathed himself with one hard motion and Augus cried out beneath him. The muscles in his legs flexed, his spine arched, even his neck stretched out.

‘You’re...not a _King,’_ Augus rasped, ‘but a _beast.’_

‘I _know,’_ Gwyn grit out, pushing himself into Augus with short, sharp thrusts. ‘It should hurt, Augus; because otherwise I’m not doing it right. Besides, I thought pain didn’t bother you?’

Augus growled in his throat, a delicious sound that was made even more so when Gwyn realised that Augus growing hard against him. He reached down and tugged his cock into full hardness, licking his lips when Augus hissed at the rough treatment.

‘If you don’t come by the time I do, then you’re not coming at all.’

‘ _Ten seconds_ is hardly a fair deadline to anyone,’ Augus managed, and then choked off into silence at a particularly hard thrust.

Gwyn couldn’t be bothered dignifying that with a reply. It always got to this point and he just didn’t care anymore, he just wanted to come, and he knew it, and his partners knew it, and if anyone had a problem with it there were plenty of other fae to sleep with and even humans if they got bored with the fae. He thrust hard, craving friction, wishing he hadn’t used as much lubricant and moaning harshly when he realised that he probably didn’t _need_ to, next time, because Augus was a spoil of war, not some bed-partner, not an _equal._

Augus gasped beneath him, a pained noise, and Gwyn realised he was jerking him off too hard. He grit his teeth, pushed his thumb into the slit of Augus’ cock. Augus’ throat worked on a silent cry. He shuddered beneath him, his body convulsed, and he came hard, covering Gwyn’s hand even as Gwyn paused deep inside of him, finding his release, mind going blank.

He stayed bowed over Augus for some time, waiting until he’d softened fully, until Augus had too.

He withdrew more slowly this time. Augus groaned, dropped his leg to the floor as soon as Gwyn released it.

Gwyn leaned up again, shoved come covered fingers into Augus’ slack mouth.

‘Wouldn’t want to waste any of it,’ he said, voice rough. ‘Don’t you need the water?’

He pushed deeper when Augus didn’t respond straight away. And when Augus’ tongue curled around his middle finger, he smiled slowly. He had an awful idea.

A terrible idea. Maybe he was getting the hang of this game after all. And he thought maybe he’d feel less inclined to do it, as Augus licked him clean so politely, so thoroughly. But with each sensual swipe, he only felt more convinced that if the circumstances were reversed, Augus wouldn’t hesitate to do the same. That, if the situation was reversed, Augus would have relished such an idea.

When Augus was done, he reached over and took up the glass of water, and then let Augus drink the rest of it. Augus took small sips, almost dainty, and when the glass was empty, he lapped at the droplets that clung to the rim.

‘You tell me that I have everything that I need in order to break you, already,’ Gwyn said, setting the glass down and moving back up so that he could straddle Augus again properly. ‘You tell me that I’ve broken you, when it is quite obvious that I haven’t. You are uncommonly resilient, not just physically, but emotionally. You know this as well as I do. You tell me that I have the gag, and the water, so what else is there? I don’t know, Augus, you tell me. What else is there?’

Augus stared at him blankly, and then he tensed, wary.

‘No answers?’ Gwyn said.

Augus shook his head, slowly.

Gwyn unwrapped the gag so quickly that Augus had only just started to arch up in horror when Gwyn wrapped it twice around his mouth and secured it with a tight knot at the back of his head. Augus wailed behind the gag, eyes pleading, before they quickly sheened over with tears. Whatever expression he’d seen on Gwyn’s face, he didn’t like it.

Gwyn pushed Augus’ head down into the ground, held him still until he went limp, shuddering like a horse broken under the whip.

‘Do you know what else I have? It’s _time_. A few minutes isn’t nearly long enough to leave you gagged, now, is it? Do you think looking at me like that will make me sorry for you? Do you think I’ve used all my trump cards? Do you think they’re all gone? It’s going to take you at _least_ half an hour to scrape the gag out of your mouth, and you’ll have to get creative if you want it gone. Don’t mess yourself up too much, because you _are_ pretty.’

Augus stared at him in betrayal. It was an expression Gwyn had seen before, six months before to be exact, when Ash had forced his brother to submit underneath the weight of the living shadows.

‘I suppose you didn’t think I was capable of this, but I am capable of a steep learning curve. Maybe I’m learning your game after all, Augus. Think about _that,_ while you scrape at tree roots to get a piece of cloth off your face. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a Kingdom to run.’

Gwyn got up and dressed himself quickly, toed on his boots and looked back at Augus’ expression. Augus hadn’t even started trying to remove the gag, as he’d expected he would. He looked too shocked to manage much more than wide eyes, as though he hoped that at any moment Gwyn would simply turn around and change his mind. Gwyn swallowed around something hard inside of himself. Something unpleasant.

‘You drove _everyone_ away, Augus,’ Gwyn said heavily. ‘So don’t look at me like that. Your brother wasn’t the only one you drove away. And you know it.’

Gwyn walked away. He expected to hear sounds of frustration, of fear, and was discomfited when he heard nothing at all as he exited the cell.


	3. Desperation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks folks, SO MUCH, for your comments, kudos, subscriptions and bookmarks. As this is quite a darkfic, I treasure the folks who are sticking around to read, and are enjoying themselves. :D You folks are great, and I'm happy to report there's a lot of _Game Theory_ already written and waiting for everyone. The only reason updates are slower right now, is to make sure _Into Shadows We Fall_ isn't spoiled at all. Once _ISWF_ is over, _Game Theory_ will take priority.
> 
> *
> 
> New tags specifically for this chapter: Biting, Forced Comfort, Blood

Gwyn had gotten caught up in a dispute between domovoi and leshii, and in the end, had needed several days longer than he’d expected to prevent both factions going to war over a land dispute. The woodland factions were both prone to argument, and even Gwyn at his fiercest couldn’t get them to settle. But eventually, after shouting and vodka and realising that they just needed to yell themselves hoarse, they ended up settling themselves. Nine days later, they had finally come to a land agreement that would prevent war, would keep fae lives preserved.

That was the thing about fae. There weren’t a great many of them; immortality made them slow to have offspring, and that was if they even could. However, they were also deeply territorial, prone to argument and disagreement; battles and mercenary attacks were not uncommon.  

On the first day of the dispute, he’d thought of Augus a great deal. He hadn’t wanted to, but it was hard to wipe the memory of Augus’ betrayed expression from his mind. Even when he had known, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that justice was making sure that Augus was demoted and could never become Unseelie King again, it had chafed to know the methods he was using. No other fae had ever made him feel so desperate to get a job done. He was sure that if he didn’t try every trick at his disposal, he’d never end up creating justice for those who had died, those who still remained and needed their homes back.

He was paranoid that if he didn’t do this, Augus would somehow end up aboveground and powerful again.

After that first day of worrying about Augus’ expression and his own actions, he relaxed, knowing that Augus would have removed the gag by then. He had other things to focus on.

After the dispute between the leshii and the domovoi, Gwyn had closed up the mediation room for another day and walked through the Seelie Court itself; the idyllic forest-like place that it was, sombre birds watching from the trees, flowers growing amongst beds of grass, giant, graceful trees reaching up to the unearthly, Otherworldly sky with their branches.

He passed groups of Seelie Court fae, along with Capital fae who wanted to vie for higher status. Since the defeat of the living shadows and Augus both, his own Inner Court had dispersed out into their own realms. Albion managed the Seelie seawater fae, and Ondine was more suited to simply being a water elemental. He had stopped getting her to read his future a long time ago. He had a very small Inner Court compared to previous Kings, but he didn’t place his faith or trust in anyone easily and...he hadn’t technically placed his faith in Albion or Ondine either. Only in their power, only in their ability to fulfil their duty.

He rarely walked through his Court like this, preferring to avoid it and teleport. But he had to show his face sometimes. So it was that he paused, surprised, when he saw his mother and his cousin, Efnisien, talking quietly together in a shadowy corner.

_That can’t be good._

Efnisien was rarely in the Court at all. Gwyn didn’t want him there. His centre of cruelty and his ability to make malicious sport of anything meant that he tormented the fae he found there. He only behaved himself when he was talking to Gwyn’s mother, and even then, likely because she herself was prone to manipulation and covert cruelty, and could keep his mind occupied with new plots.

Gwyn walked past them both quickly, without drawing their attention. His mother hadn’t approved of him keeping Augus alive, as he knew she wouldn’t. It wasn’t a coincidence that he’d had more formal appeals for Augus’ death since she’d begun to spend more time in his Court. And Efnisien...the less he and his cousin had to do with each other, the better. He was one of those fae that, like his mother, was incredibly fine looking, carrying an aristocratic bearing in his face and body. But there was a cruel cast to his eyes, a set to his mouth that indicated he was always wondering what he could tear apart next. Gwyn knew very well that if he couldn’t find people to menace, he would simply default to torturing forest animals.

There were few people in the world that Gwyn actually hated, but...

Seeing his mother and Efnisien in the Court together, talking quietly, made Gwyn shudder to think what they were discussing. His Court was not a safe place, though perhaps most of his Kingdom didn’t realise that was because of his family. After all, they’d enjoyed a privileged position in the Court for longer than Gwyn could imagine. Generations of family, all advising Kings and Queens before him.

So on the ninth day he forced his thoughts towards Augus again, because after everything else, thinking about Augus in a cell – one of the things he had actually gotten right – almost seemed a relief.

He made his way once more down the spiral staircase, another glass of water in his hand. He thought he should – at the very least – remove the rope binding his wrists. He would see what happened then. And if Augus attacked him, well, he was prepared for that.

He wandered down the long, dank corridor. He expected Augus to be waiting for him. To have smelled the water like last time. Augus became so obedient with the promise of something that could be found in such abundance everywhere else, except – among other places – in the Seelie Kingdom dungeon.

He couldn’t see Augus in the cell. His heart started to hammer. He almost dropped the glass of water. Had he _escaped?_ How? It shouldn’t be possible. Not remotely possible. Even with Seelie sympathisers – not likely – they couldn’t break the energy seal around the cell, let alone get into the dungeon itself. The whole Seelie Court responded to Gwyn’s decisions as King, and if he keyed the energy for only a limited number of people, then that was sacrosanct; inviolable.

Or was it?

Then he saw a hunched form in the corner, facing away from the entrance. Augus’ arms were still tied behind his back, fingers limp. Gwyn frowned.

‘Trying a new trick, are you?’ he said, and Augus flinched in shock. It was the first time Augus hadn’t been aware of his approach. Augus turned and Gwyn felt his heart stop.

_He hasn’t removed the gag._

He had tried, obviously he had _tried,_ he had messed up that pretty face after all. One side of his face in particular was a mess of dark, black blood, scratches that went all the way down his neck. Gwyn hadn’t thought he’d tied the gag _that_ tightly. He hadn’t...

He walked immediately through the seal and they stared at each other. Gwyn’s breathing was shallow.

‘Do you want me to take it off?’ Gwyn said, and there was a beat where Augus blinked at him like he didn’t understand. And then he made a loud, pleading noise that pierced the cell. In another room, it may have echoed. In the cell, the walls only absorbed it.

Gwyn put down the glass of water, he walked up to Augus carefully. He knew all about wild creatures and how unpredictable they could be when caught in a trap for days. He’d released some of those wild animals himself. Bears from bear traps. Deer from deer runs. Animals from pit traps.

He wondered what kind of reaction he’d get from Augus.

Augus started shaking violently even as Gwyn reached for him, and Gwyn had to bite down on his tongue to stop himself from offering a gentle word, because no, that wasn’t what this was about. It wasn’t _his_ fault that Augus hadn’t tried hard enough to remove the gag. He could have hooked it from the back of his head and pulled it up that way, it wouldn’t have been-

Gwyn stilled when he felt the matts of clotted blood in the back of Augus’ damp hair.

_He tried that too._

He frowned at the scarf, stared at it, and then he swore under his breath. Augus flinched almost completely out of his grasp and Gwyn had to step forwards again. He’d forgotten, he couldn’t believe that he’d _forgotten;_ the black scarf had been a gift, enchanted to make sure that only he could untie it. He’d never had to use it before, so he’d dumped it in his chest with other lengths of silk and rope, along with fixings and other things he used to repair his weapons and halters, and it had been... coincidence, he hoped, that this was the one he’d picked up.

_It was only supposed to be half an hour. You left him down here for_ nine days. _Efnisien would be proud._

Gwyn swallowed around a thick knot in his throat.

Consequently, the knot gave immediately under his fingers. He barely needed to touch it, and it responded. But the scarf was stiff with blood and he had to manually peel it off, frowning when the smell of fresh blood entered the air again.

This wouldn’t do at all.

Augus, surprisingly, didn’t say anything when the scarf was removed from around his mouth. He drooped forwards, his breath was shallow and ragged. His whole body wouldn’t stop shaking. It was hard not to place a careful hand...

Gwyn restrained himself.

It wasn’t until Gwyn started untying the rope at Augus’ back, that Augus started to gasp for breath, sucking down lungfuls of air, each a dry rasp. Gwyn scowled at the rope. He’d had a bad week. A very bad week. He’d just wanted to come down here and get that out of his system, and now _this._

The rope was harder, it wasn’t enchanted to obey his fingers, and he had to tug at the knots which had been made tighter through Augus’ struggles. As he managed to loosen the knots, he was less surprised to see the welts and bruises around Augus’ wrists.

Augus didn’t move his hands straight away. Augus likely knew from experience – probably not his own – that long-term bondage was hell on the body, whether fae or not. He could withstand trials that humans couldn’t, but that still didn’t mean he’d like them. Augus flexed his fingers slowly, open and shut. Open and shut. Still breathing in that horrible way, as though there hadn’t been enough air in the cells, as though there still wasn’t.

Gwyn touched fingers to the side of Augus’ face to check the damage, and Augus jerked out of his grip unsteadily. He wouldn’t make eye contact.

‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ Gwyn said, and Augus managed something that was almost a laugh. Gwyn reached out again, and Augus jerked back until his side was pressed against the wall, his head was tilted away.

‘You don’t need to _check_ on me,’ Augus said, voice strained. ‘I’ll _heal._ Even as an underfae, I still have fae healing, and I’ll get over it.’

Gwyn blinked. That was...familiar. They were words he’d heard from Augus before; though in a _very_ different context.

‘I know you’ll heal,’ Gwyn said, and then forced hardness to his voice, forced himself not to sound soft. ‘Maybe I just want to _look,_ you’re not in a position to deny me.’

Gwyn didn’t grab his head, didn’t force him, couldn’t make himself. He reached out again, pulled Augus’ hair back from the side of his face even as Augus strained away into the wall. Augus wasn’t looking at him, instead staring ahead, trying for a stony expression, but only managing something pained, distraught.

The scratches were bad, but not as bad as they could have been. At some point, Augus must have realised – far earlier than Gwyn, apparently – that the scarf was enchanted. Some of the scratches had already knitted together. Augus was right, fae healing had taken over. It was slower than usual, even more than standard underfae healing. Augus had dried out too much, didn’t have access to enough water or food, and was wasting. His healing was sluggish.  

He stroked Augus’ hair away from his eyes, and Augus made a noise in his throat that was too raw, too honest to ever be feigned. It made Gwyn respond in the only way he knew how when he heard those noises in the wild. He reached out again, stroked the back of his fingers down Augus’ face, carefully avoiding the scratches, making sure it didn’t hurt. He made sure to be gentle.

Augus launched himself into Gwyn with a roar. He flung his arms forwards, even through the pain of stiff muscles and bones, and sunk his sharp claws into the skin at Gwyn’s throat.

‘NO!’ Augus shouted. ‘You _stop! You stop this! You will stop this now!’_

And once started, he wouldn’t stop, the compulsions heavy on every word, hysteria making his voice shatter. Gwyn placed his hands automatically around the welts and bruises on Augus’ wrists, warrior instincts kicking in, aiming for where it would hurt. Augus’ mouth opened and his words died out, his hands unclenched. Gwyn’s neck trickled blood where the nails had withdrawn, but it was a minor pain, and he ignored it.

‘ _Don’t_ use the scarf again,’ Augus said, when he saw the expression on Gwyn’s face. ‘Don’t use it again.’

There was a long pause. Augus closed his eyes, his dry lips cracked under a despairing smile.

‘Please,’ Augus added.

‘Get a hold of yourself,’ Gwyn said, uncomfortably. Augus didn’t _beg._ ‘You have fae healing. You’ll get over it.’

‘Truer words...’ Augus whispered and leaned weakly back against the wall when Gwyn let go of his wrists.

Gwyn silently got up and picked up the glass of water, then came back. He placed it at Augus’ lips and gently tilted the glass up. As soon as Augus felt the water, he drank it down until it was gone. Gwyn set the glass aside, waited. When Augus didn’t say a thing, Gwyn decided to speak.

‘So I’ve learned something,’ Gwyn said. Augus wouldn’t meet his eyes.

‘I’ve learned that you’ll use your compulsion to stop someone from being kind to you. But not nearly as much, to stop someone from...’

Gwyn couldn’t finish the sentence. He had only just realised what he was saying, the impact of what he was saying. When he looked back up, Augus was smirking at him weakly. A trickle of blood trailed down his chin, dripped off his neck. The worst scratches were around his mouth, likely where he’d been desperate to try and find his voice again.

Gwyn felt the uncomfortable hardness in his gut expand. Augus had done so much, had hurt so many, Gwyn didn’t want to feel _this_. He couldn’t afford to. What if this was a game? What if he was entangled in something and Augus was playing on his instincts? Gwyn could never leave an animal in a trap, preferring to stalk and hunt over laying pit-traps or steel and waiting for it to snag something. And Augus...did he know that? Would he use that?

He edged forwards. Augus’ smirk disappeared, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

When Gwyn had Augus cornered against the wall and a tree root, he picked up the scarf he’d dropped on the ground. Augus tried to launch himself up and sideways, but Gwyn’s hand on his tense shoulder forced him down again.

‘If I gave you a choice,’ Gwyn said, ‘between the scarf, and comfort, which would you choose?’

Augus closed his eyes, smiled. It was a bleak smile.

‘You’re...good at this. Surprisingly,’ Augus said. ‘Didn’t expect an oaf like you to be good.’

‘I’m giving you a choice,’ Gwyn said, telling himself that he wasn’t pleased at the praise. That he wasn’t appreciative of praise given to him by one who was far better at this than he was. That it wasn’t about _that_ either.

‘If I say...I won’t choose?’ Augus said. Gwyn looked down at the scarf before looking back up again.

‘Then I’ll do both.’

Augus flinched, and then looked disappointed at himself for flinching. His brow furrowed, he opened his eyes and looked down at the scarf.

‘You are better than this. This isn’t _like_ you, we both know th-’

‘Stop telling me what I am, and _choose._ Don’t try my patience.’

Augus stiffened. His legs, already up against his chest, shifted as his feet tried to push himself back further into the wall.

‘You won’t...’ Augus said, and then swallowed. ‘I don’t know what to say. May I ask you a question?’

Gwyn swore that hearing Augus talk in that hesitant tone of voice wasn’t a turn on. But he wasn’t very good at lying to himself.

‘One,’ Gwyn said.

‘Is this so you can pick the option I want least? Is that the game?’

‘What do you think?’

Augus laughed, a tear slipped out of the corner of his eye, and Gwyn didn’t think Augus had noticed. He looked exhausted.

‘I can’t decide if you’re...if you’d do it the way I’d do it. Or if you’re, if you’re not as cruel as I was. I don’t know what to think. You’re hard to read, these days. Not...at my best, right now.’

Gwyn frowned. He didn’t want to have this conversation. He didn’t want to compare levels of cruelty. He wasn’t like Efnisien. He...

He wasn’t in the mood for explaining himself, and he didn’t have to.

‘Five seconds. _Decide.’_

Augus furrowed his brows further, and then knocked his head back against the wall once. Just as Gwyn had almost finished counting down, Augus said:

‘C-‘ and then didn’t seem to be able to finish the word.

‘You see, I have learned something about you today,’ Gwyn said quietly, accepting that single, hard consonant as his answer. ‘Were you always like this? Even back then?’

‘I’d rather not talk about it, actually,’ Augus said.

‘Tough.’

Augus turned his head away, and Gwyn took Augus’ hand in his own. He turned it up carefully, and then touched the tips of all of his fingers to Augus’ palm, as gently as he knew how. He reminded himself of the touches needed when dealing with forest creatures, when calming a spooked deer. He didn’t, after all, always go out into the woods to hunt.

‘I don’t want you to treat me like this,’ Augus said, and Gwyn trailed his fingers along Augus’, a languid, tender stroke. Augus jerked his hand away, and Gwyn let him, moving his gentle touch to the line of Augus’ shoulder, trailing a palm over muscle and bone. ‘I said I don’t w-’

‘Stay,’ Gwyn said, crowding him with his body. ‘Just stay.’

Augus gritted his teeth, tensed his jaw, withstood Gwyn’s touch the way most hardened warriors withstood torture. He was twitching by the time Gwyn paused, his forehead twisted up into unspeakable anguish. Gwyn found it curious, he hadn’t known that it was possible to do so much with gentleness.

It made him realise something, and the realisation unsettled something disturbing and fractious in his gut.

‘I know,’ Gwyn breathed, ‘what you did to Jack Frost. At first I thought it wasn’t so bad, even though, obviously, it was evil and cruel. I thought, of all the things you could have done, mimicking Pitch’s methods of comfort seemed...like maybe you’d gone soft, taken pity on the boy. But I was wrong. You were being _unspeakably_ cruel by your standards, weren’t you? You went for the _worst_ thing you could think of.’

Augus’ breathing started to escalate, he tensed for a blow.

‘What do you want from me?’ Augus said, finally, when Gwyn didn’t hit him. Gwyn didn’t do anything except leave an open palm on his shoulder.

‘As King of the Seelie Court, it is my responsibility to ensure that you will never – by any means necessary – threaten the fae as you have done so in the past.’

‘So just gag me and leave me here and come back, will you? I’m tired of all this-’

He shook his head when Gwyn touched his face again, when he slipped fingers up gently over his scalp, through the roots of his hair where the skin wasn’t damaged. He smoothed through the damp, untangled some of it. Repeated the gesture. He ignored Augus’ increased shaking and continued, untangling more of it, allowing his fingers to seek, quietly. It didn’t come easily to him, and he had to concentrate. He touched him like he touched tiny, young animals. Fledglings that had fallen out of nests, fawns that had lost their mothers.

_Abandoned creatures._

Gwyn frowned again.

‘That King of shadows, he abandoned you, didn’t he?’ he said, and paused when Augus’ whole body moved on a single sob. It didn’t pass his mouth, ironic that he hated the gag so much, when he now suppressed so much of his own voice.

‘You might as well talk to me about it,’ Gwyn continued. ‘You’re going to be down here for a while.’

‘I am, aren’t I?’ Augus whispered. ‘In the dark. Alone. You coming for me when you feel like it.’

‘Don’t pretend you haven’t fantasised about doing it to others. Don’t pretend you haven’t thought about it _.’_

Augus shook his head in disagreement, and then nodded, sobbed again. He couldn’t hold it in, and the next one that came after it was strangled down.

‘I have,’ Augus said, ‘I have. And I don’t mind. Really. You’ve...you’re doing well. Actually. Don’t even need compulsion, and already you have me like this. Well done.’

His chest was starting to shake with repressed sobs, his shoulders bowed forwards and his arms curled around his torso, even though it must have hurt him to do it. Gwyn felt a thread of coldness wind through him. He couldn’t decipher Augus’ game, and he hardly knew his own role, except that he was supposed to be captor, and Augus was supposed to be cowed.

‘If I had known this was in you,’ Augus managed, ‘I would have done things differently, all that time ago, between us. I would have...I- oh, _fuck you.’_

Augus’ sobs never became more audible than shuddering exhales of air, falling one upon the other in spasm. He inhaled between each bout, curling further upon himself, until his forehead was almost brushing Gwyn’s chest. He tried to make sure that no part of him was touching Gwyn, but Gwyn was too close, and Augus couldn’t get away.

‘I wonder,’ Gwyn said, looking down at the creature he managed to crowd so easily with his body; he was intensely aware of how much larger than Augus he was, like this. ‘I wonder how vulnerable you must feel, at this moment. At my mercy. I doubt it feels as good for you as it does for me.’

Gwyn’s lips curled as Augus tried – and failed – to stop his sobbing. He was too far gone. There was something particularly satisfying about Augus crying, broken, leaning so close and yet not allowing himself to touch Gwyn’s body. And Gwyn...he shoved away whatever compunctions he had about what was happening, shoved them deep. It was his right as King to treat his prisoners however he wished. Augus had traded away his right to be treated with respect when he had started destroying the very world and community they all needed in order to survive.

He was doing the right thing.

Gwyn reached around with one of the arms he’d been bracing against the wall and draped it around the back of Augus’ shoulders. And when Augus started to pull away, Gwyn exerted the tiniest amount of strength to bring him forward and back. His face was impassive as he pulled Augus against him, as he felt that smaller body – dense with muscle – slump awkwardly against his.

He could feel dirt underneath his palm and he smoothed it away until he felt only skin. Augus shook his head in response, pushed weakly, but his wrists were still healing from their long-term bondage. He seemed disoriented. He couldn’t get enough purchase to move.

Gwyn shifted until he was leaning with his back against the wall and one of his legs drawn up. He pulled Augus across him, who was still shuddering with sobs that he was trying to quieten.

The idea that Augus loathed comfort so much that he would turn it as a torture device against a creature as young and wild as Jack Frost filled him with a special strain of loathing. He had initially thought – since discovering what had actually happened to Jack – that Augus had been going soft. He had even used it as one of his private excuses not to kill Augus outright, to imprison him as underfae instead. But now...

Gwyn kept one hand wrapped tight around Augus’ side, a reminder that he shouldn’t fight. And with the other, he started thumbing smears of dirt off Augus’ shoulders, smoothing his palm over his back.

Augus pushed up to get off and Gwyn’s arm tightened until Augus made a tiny, tight sound in the back of his throat. He stopped fighting, only tensed, shaking, against the caresses.

‘You could fight me,’ Gwyn said, ‘That might be entertaining.’

Augus tensed further, as though he was considering taking Gwyn up on his word, and then he subsided once more. There were fine tremors moving through his body, and each time Gwyn moved his hand gently over his shoulder, each time he rubbed away a stubborn stain of dirt, it reminded him very much of feeling for the tension in a bowstring; he could feel the minute shifts under his fingers, it was like learning a new weapon. The loathing he’d been trying to hold onto dripped away, leaving him curious, instead.

Gwyn raised his hand up and started untangling Augus’ hair. At that, Augus hissed threateningly. Gwyn ignored him. Augus’ hair was thick, still damp. He had dripped a great deal of blood out already, except where it had clotted too quickly. It coiled around his fingers, traced limp lines over his knuckles. Gwyn shifted where he leaned against the wall and swallowed his sigh. It was important to concentrate, because if he lulled himself with this, he would forget that Augus was a barely contained creature, waiting for an opening in which to fight back.

He reached around with his fingers and traced the shape of Augus’ ear, then curved down along his jaw, reaching up and thumbing the scratches over his mouth.

It happened quickly.

Augus slid out from under his arm instead of pushing up against it. He slapped Gwyn across the face with the back of his hand, catching him with the tips of his nails. Gwyn’s head hardly moved, it was nothing more than a brief flare of pain. Augus’ wrists were still weak after the bondage, and he couldn’t manage much force. But his eyes and the poisonous expression on his face more than made up for it.

Gwyn couldn’t help it, a corner of his mouth turned up.

At that, likely aggravated by Gwyn’s expression, Augus drew his arm back again, and before he could even start the swing, Gwyn had caught the sore, bruised joint and squeezed it between his own hand.

‘Trying to make me angry?’ Gwyn said, and Augus’ hand tensed into curled claws.

‘You _disgust_ me,’ Augus said, putting so much venom into the words that Gwyn was almost certain that he was forcing compulsion into them. Gwyn raised his eyebrows. That would never work.

Compulsions didn’t stick to him, didn’t work their way in. His father had made sure, a long, long time ago, that Gwyn wasn’t susceptible to the compulsions of other fae. It had been a necessary thing to learn, brutal though the lessons had been. Even when Augus had been at his most powerful; King of the Unseelie fae, with all the status and energy that had implied, his compulsions had never been anything more than irritating.

‘I know what you’re doing,’ Gwyn said.

‘Oh, do you?’ Augus said, trying to tug his wrist free and failing. Gwyn let him tug several more times, and only released his arm when Augus stopped. Augus’ lips tensed at that, like he wanted to spit insults. But he held his tongue, and so Gwyn continued to speak.

‘Yes. We see feints in the battlefield all the time, Augus. Trying to incite my wrath, aren’t you? Want the violence of it? Can’t _bear_ me doing _this_.’

Gwyn shifted and smoothed the flat of his palm over Augus’ collarbone, watching him carefully. Augus reared sideways and Gwyn followed the movement until Augus was flat on his back, Gwyn arching over him.

‘You’re in the dirt again. Where you belong,’ Gwyn said, tracing his hand over Augus’ collarbone a second time, a third. He resisted the urge to fist fingernails into Augus’ shoulder, to pin him down by bruised wrists. All the frustrations of the week had built and twisted upon themselves until he didn’t know which way was up. And now, leaning over Augus, he still couldn’t tell.

‘You’re the one on your knees in it,’ Augus said. ‘And you came willingly. You had to push _me_ down. Dear me, Gwyn, you must be better about which insults you choose to throw around. This is not your finest work.’

Gwyn ducked his head, grit his teeth. Those silky taunts were far more likely to push him over the edge than any physical violence, and Augus obviously knew it. He’d made the faintest sound of mocking amusement as soon as Gwyn had lowered his head. Gwyn forced his breathing to calm.

‘Do you know how stubborn I can be?’ Gwyn said under his breath, trailing fingers down Augus’ side. ‘Do you want to find out? Keep pushing me, Augus.’

Gwyn straddled Augus and stared down at him, before moving his hands up and settling them over Augus’ shoulders, dragging them down his chest and torso, making sure to catch his nipples as he went. He repeated he gesture, watching outrage flare onto Augus’ face, his hands fist at his side. His cheeks were still wet with tears from earlier. His breathing hadn’t entirely evened out. Gwyn knew he shouldn’t be enjoying this part; but he was.  

He forced his movements to true gentleness. Made himself think of wild, lost creatures once more. It was easy after that, it made him remember something.

‘Did he abandon you, Augus? Didn’t you say that you were thrown away?’ Gwyn said, stroking fingers down the side of his ribs, and Augus jerked. His eyes widened. For a moment, Gwyn wondered if Augus was going to fight, and then Augus closed his eyes and went completely limp. Gwyn recognised this from his hunts in the forest. _Playing dead._ It would never work.

‘You don’t have to tell me,’ Gwyn continued, skimming fingertips up the inside of Augus’ arms and ending with his palms cradling Augus’ face. ‘But you will.’

Augus said nothing. His eyelids pressed shut, small lines appeared at the corner of his eyes. His mouth was tense. For all that he was willing his body to relaxation, he was not relaxed. And Gwyn bowed down, dragged his lips over one of the worst scratches, smelled the coppery-silty scent of Augus’ dried blood. It was almost muddy, and he licked at the taste it left on his lips.

‘Did you want to bite into it yourself,’ Augus said, breathless, ‘that heart that you made Cyledr eat? Did you hold it, pulsing and bloody in your own hands, and did your mouth water? Did you _wonder?_ Except that you don’t have to answer me, you mad, base creature. I _know,_ I _remember._ Pulling those answers from you, all that time ago, how could I not? Poor, naive Gwyn. He didn’t want to say how much the madness of it intrigued him. How appealing insanity was, after all _that_.’

Gwyn shivered, his eyes snapped open. Augus was staring at him, something of victory in his eyes.

‘But you still told me _everything.’_

Augus reached between them and pushed his hand into Gwyn’s breeches, took Gwyn in a weak grip. Gwyn was too shocked to respond, hadn’t expected it, and Augus’ hand was already moving skilfully against him. Gwyn blew out an exhale, hardened quickly, braced himself on one arm. He moved his other arm down between their bodies, a thread of fear winding through him. Augus could hurt him. _A lot._

He curled his hand around Augus’, strengthening the grip until it felt good, until Augus couldn’t hurt him because Gwyn’s grip prevented it. But both of their hands around his cock...it was getting to him. He dropped his head beside Augus’.

He waited before he started moving their hands. He turned, licked his tongue into the scratches by Augus’ lips. The skin split open and he was tasting fresh blood, not nearly as silty or muddy. Fresh and liquid, slicker than most. Augus made a small, trapped sound in the back of his throat, but didn’t move away.

‘Trying to distract me?’ Gwyn said, moving his hand and forcing Augus’ into the movement. ‘It’s working.’

Augus tried to yank his hand away, but Gwyn’s grip tightened around Augus’ hand, and therefore himself. He groaned, harsh, and bit Augus’ lower lip, keeping it imprisoned between his teeth for a moment. He let go seconds later, exhaling.

‘ _No,’_ Gwyn said in response to Augus trying to tug his arm away again, dragging Augus’ hand into a steady rhythm. ‘You started this. Let’s finish it.’

‘Shall I start counting down from thirty seconds? Or shall you? No. Wait. I had better, since I doubt you can multitask.’

Augus inhaled sharply through his nose as Gwyn scraped teeth over Augus’ jawbone, catching scratches from the gag. And Gwyn had wanted to drag this out, had wanted to make it last, but he had only ever intended to come down and spend himself up until he didn’t have to _think_ anymore. Augus made him think too much. Made him remember.

He moved his mouth sideways until he could push his tongue between Augus’ lips, tasting pure, fresh water and a swirl of green; chlorophyll. He was licking the roof of Augus’ mouth when teeth closed down on his tongue, hard enough to hurt, but not hard enough to break through skin. He jolted. He’d stopped paying attention, and now _this._

Gwyn grunted, opened his eyes, and Augus was still watching him. His teeth bit down harder, and Gwyn’s hand faltered in its pace. That _hurt._

Augus laughed under his breath, the sound humming through Gwyn’s mouth. He moved his own hand beneath Gwyn’s, reminding Gwyn that he had stopped moving. There was a dare in his eyes, a hungry, dangerous glint.

He eased his bite off Gwyn’s tongue and Gwyn tore his mouth away, tasting his own blood. Augus had broken the skin, after all.

‘Finish it,’ Augus said, and his grip became suddenly and deceptively strong, as though his hands hadn’t been damaged by the bondage at all. His fingers tightened hard around Gwyn and forced a moan out of his throat.

_No, this is not permitted, I will not-_

‘If you bite me again,’ Gwyn hissed, ‘I swear on my _Court,_ I will leave you gagged down here until you forget your own name.’

He forced Augus’ mouth open with his own and thrust his tongue deep, over-riding Augus’ rhythm around his cock with his own hand. Augus’ jaw tightened, teeth scraped his tongue threateningly but didn’t bite down again. And then Augus’ tongue wrapped up around Gwyn’s and sucked hard, tasting the blood that he had drawn with his bite, and Gwyn swore that the sound that ripped out of him into Augus’ mouth was not because of that. It was _not._

He had thought he would be close, but he wasn’t. The fatigue of the week caught up with him, and he was so tired, he had just wanted to come down and...

And now they were facing each other, and Augus’ eyes were open, ever-watching, and Gwyn could feel his fingers around his cock, laced through his own, and it should have pushed him over the edge in seconds, a minute at most. But something was wrong. The sensations swam up to him from a distance, they felt good, but it wasn’t the rawness he normally looked for. Something was wrong.

Gwyn broke away from Augus’ mouth again, gathering his breath, pushing his face to the side so that Augus couldn’t see him. The taste of Augus’ mouth was in his, he felt strange, as though he’d been swimming in freshwater.

He could see the gag – a limp piece of cloth – in his line of sight, and squeezed his eyes shut. He hadn’t remembered, had he, that it was enchanted? That it couldn’t be removed?

He wouldn’t do something like that, would he?

And yet here he was, doing something like this.

A frustrated, trapped sound ripped out of him and he moved his hand faster; a relentless, punishing grip that almost hurt. And Augus flinched, his hand and wrist sore, but Gwyn was _done._ He shouldn’t even be down here. Everything smelled of blood and dirt and water, even though Augus was water-deprived and shouldn’t smell so _fresh._

His orgasm blasted through him, more pain than pleasure, and he didn’t care. He pressed his forehead down into Augus’ hair, feeling it damp against his forehead. His hand slowed to a halt, withdrew, and then he jerked as Augus’ hand continued against him, just as tight as before, a smooth, flowing rhythm that made his gut ache.

Gwyn reached up and forcibly pulled Augus’s hand off him, holding his wrist to make sure he couldn’t go back.

‘So I’ve learned something,’ Augus said smoothly, sounding smug.

Gwyn cringed to hear the words reflected back at him. He pushed himself upright quickly, forcing himself into a standing position even though he felt terribly unsteady. He picked up the gag where he’d dropped it, shoved it into his pocket. His arm tensed, he wanted to drag his hand through his hair, but he couldn’t. Not now. He’d exposed something that he shouldn’t have. At the point where he usually tipped over into that rawness he craved, he’d fallen into something else entirely.

He needed to hunt. He needed... _something._

He looked down at Augus, who was half-hard, but didn’t seem particularly concerned with doing anything about it. He took in the way Augus had raised himself up to his elbows and was looking at Gwyn with a self-satisfied, narrow-eyed expression. That lambent green saw far too much. Gwyn had to stop this, he had to _stop._

‘I’m not going to tell you what I’ve learned,’ Augus said, managing an extremely superior smile for someone who still had fresh blood at the corner of his mouth where Gwyn had opened the wound. ‘I’ll save it for later. When you’re least expecting it.’

Gwyn picked up the glass that had held the water he’d given Augus. He didn’t know how Augus managed to look so _composed._ He was the one who had been bound, gagged, the one who had been crying and broken. And Gwyn knew that this was the evidence he needed that Augus was too dangerous, could never be trusted. Gwyn could kill him, and almost no one would care. He should have killed him when he had the chance.

_But you can’t,_ a small voice in his mind whispered. _You can’t. You coward. You remember too much._

He walked out quickly, without a backwards glance. Augus said nothing else, but Gwyn could feel his confident gaze upon his back until he was out of sight. It was only then that his tense hand shattered the glass in his grip. His skin healed quickly, but he still felt like he was bleeding when he reached his own rooms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, 'Clean:'
> 
> ‘I knew you were a fool, but not this much of one,’ Augus said, though he didn’t look up at Gwyn. He dipped his fingertips into the water and took a deep breath. ‘You removed the gag when you knew it was working. You have enquired after my welfare. Now this. What, exactly, are you doing here?’


	4. Clean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya folks; just a quick note to let you know that every bookmark, kudos, subscription etc. is really, really treasured on this fic. And every comment is so very appreciated. Thanks to those who have taken the time to comment so far, and thank you to those who will comment in the future. <3
> 
> *
> 
> Tags specific for this chapter: Masturbation, Voyeurism.
> 
> *
> 
> I've also added a 'porn with plot' tag, because that's basically what _Game Theory_ is.

It took a few days to marshal his thoughts together, but in the end, he forewent coming to a solid conclusion about what he should do with Augus. He knew at the very least that he couldn’t kill him. It wasn’t in his nature. He may have run up a huge tally of deaths on the battlefield, but it wasn’t his way to kill off the field. He wasn’t an executioner.

Up until Augus had been placed in it, the Seelie dungeon had been empty since the reign of the Oak King. Gwyn didn’t take prisoners, and he’d secretly been hoping that he’d be able to close out his reign without taking a single one. But it was that, or killing Augus; there was no way he could have let Augus go back to the Unseelie Court. For a start, Gulvi would have wandered down into the Unseelie dungeon and murdered him. It didn’t matter how much she loved Ash, she loved her family, and she was a trained mercenary. Secondly, Ash would never have been voted into the Kingship with Augus down in a cell in that Court. People wouldn’t have trusted Ash not to simply let Augus out at his earliest convenience. _Gwyn_ didn’t trust Ash not to do that.

He did what he’d had to do. That was what he told himself, and he very nearly believed it.

He told himself that he should just _stop_ visiting Augus. Should bring a glass of water down once every six months and leave it at that. The water would make sure he didn’t waste completely, but it would keep him weak, and then Gwyn could rule the Kingdom that he’d never wanted to rule...

The Seelie Court was tedious, all the time. His life was no longer about defeating a terrible, shadowy menace, or an overly-ambitious Unseelie King. And it turned out that in lieu of having antagonists to focus on, the Seelie Court just antagonised themselves.

Gwyn had only been voted in because they thought he’d be suited to defeating great evil. Now, with no great evil left, the daily chore of being royalty, being stuck in the Seelie Court, it chafed away at him. He became more aware of how much he loathed what he’d been voted in to do. That he couldn’t just walk away, couldn’t just appoint someone like Albion to take over for at least another century...it left him with the taste of bile in his throat.

Gwyn wondered if that was what he was doing with Augus. Antagonising himself. There was a strange, unsteady rage in his gut whenever he thought of him. He thought of how it had ended last time between them both, in the cells; how close he had come to letting himself be taken over, and he could not allow that to happen again. Augus, even weakened, was naturally dominating. And Gwyn responded to that, even when he knew he shouldn’t, when he knew it might have fatal consequences.

He was _better_ than that. His family would be appalled if they knew what he was doing.

But then his family would be truly appalled if they knew that he’d been one of Augus’ clients, once upon a time, before he was King. They would be horrified to know that the reason Gwyn surrendered his centre of triumph to a centre of wildness, was because of Augus’ influence. It was one of the few times his family had ever tolerated him; when his centre was triumph. When he shifted to wildness, lived in the forest, became something truer than he knew he could be, they’d grown repulsed by him.

He ran the pale, wooden bucket through the lake water quickly. He dropped a sponge and cloth into it. He didn’t think soap would be necessary. If the fae knew he was doing this, if they knew it had gone beyond a single glass of water...they weren’t a trusting lot. It didn’t matter that they talked about how he’d defeated the Nightmare King, or Augus; their loyalties lasted about as long as they could be bothered giving them. Even in the Seelie Court, it wasn’t long.

He was the only one who could teleport directly into and out of the cell. And it was an easy enough matter to make sure the bucket was touching his foot, so he could bring it along with him. He never worried about accidentally teleporting on top of others. He could sense the shape of the space he was about to enter right before he entered it, and could make last minute adjustments. And, besides, there was a side of the cell that seemed to be ‘his side,’ and Augus never spent any time in it.

Augus was sitting quietly on one of the thicker tree-roots that ran along one side of the cell. His eyes were closed, he looked almost peaceful. But his nostrils flared as soon as he knew the water was there. His head tilted in its direction. Gwyn didn’t delude himself into thinking that Augus was reacting like that because of him.

‘Clean yourself,’ Gwyn said, picking up the bucket and placing it in front of Augus, then sitting opposite him on the other side of the cell.

‘So you can fuck me dirty again?’ Augus said, his eyes finally opening.

‘Clean yourself,’ Gwyn repeated, hardening the edges of the words, turning them to command. Augus stretched, he raised both of his arms above his head, arched his feet, and then looked down into the water. He reached over and trailed his fingers through it. Gwyn saw gooseflesh rise on Augus’ arms, pimple his torso. It was the most water that Augus would have seen in over six months. He wondered how Augus would react to a whole lake.

‘Well, I don’t know,’ Augus drawled. ‘I’ve spent quite a bit of time down here, over the past few months. Perhaps I’m accustomed to filth.’

He looked directly up at Gwyn as he finished his sentence, and Gwyn’s jaw tightened at the double meaning. That oily rage flashed through him again.

He stood up. He didn’t have to deal with this. He could just take the bucket with him and leave. He stepped towards the water source and Augus tensed, he placed his hands almost protectively over the surface of the water. He seemed to sense that Gwyn was not bluffing. Gwyn paused, and Augus stared at the water, a hungriness in his eyes.

Slowly, Augus dipped his hand in and picked up the sponge, shivering as freshwater cascaded through his fingers and down his wrist.

‘I knew you were a fool, but not this much of one,’ Augus said, though he didn’t look up at Gwyn. He dipped his fingertips into the water and took a deep breath. ‘You removed the gag when you knew it was working. You have enquired after my welfare. Now this. What, exactly, are you doing here?’

‘Clean yourself,’ Gwyn repeated. He had no answers for Augus, he didn’t have answers for himself.

‘I would prefer some privacy,’ Augus said. Something uncomfortable flickered over his face.

Gwyn remembered that Augus liked to do a great deal in privacy. He didn’t like to sleep while anyone was watching him. He ate alone. He preferred to hunt alone. Even when Gwyn had spent time with Augus in his own home, Augus had been remarkably private about how he lived his life, what he enjoyed, how he spent his time. To this day, not many people could say that they knew Augus well, even if they had known him for hundreds of years.

_What, exactly, are you doing here?_

Gwyn wished he knew the answer to that.

‘You would _prefer_ some privacy?’ Gwyn said. ‘This isn’t a hotel. No one is waiting on you.’

Augus breathed out silent laughter.

‘No? What would you call this then? The water? The sponge? Are you telling them up there, that you’re doing this? Or is it a secret? Let’s not forget that you _defeated_ me, Gwyn. And now, here you are, offering me something to clean myself with, _waiting_ on me.’

Gwyn ground his teeth together, and Augus looked back down to the water, as though suddenly aware of his predicament.

Augus’ hand clenched around the sponge and he looked at it, measuring. Gwyn could almost see him deciding if it was worth it. The moment that Augus decided it was, he stood up and dropped the sponge back into the bucket, and then dragged the bucket closer to himself. He bent over, picked up the sponge again, then turned his back to Gwyn without giving him a second glance.

Gwyn expected that. He sat down again, reclined against the wall, watching. From this angle, the view was just fine. And he realised – as an unexpected benefit – he could see the rise and fall of Augus’ back. As soon as Augus pressed the sponge against himself, to his chest, his upper back paused. He was holding his breath. And a moment later his whole body trembled. Gwyn watched as clear water dripped down to the cell floor, relaxed further as Augus ran the sponge over himself several more times; slow and languid strokes.

_Yes,_ Gwyn thought, _this is very good._

Augus bent down again, soaked the sponge and then wrung out the excess water, and began to clean off his hands, his forearms. His breathing was forced to a faux evenness, it was far shallower than it had been when Gwyn had entered.

‘Don’t forget your face,’ Gwyn said, and Augus stiffened, as though he’d already forgotten Gwyn was there.

Augus didn’t answer him, but kept methodically cleaning off the dirt and blood-stains on his arms. Water dripped to the floor, and Gwyn’s eyes widened when he realised that somehow – osmotically – Augus must be absorbing some of the water. His hair had gotten wetter, and he hadn’t even _touched_ his hair.

‘You absorb water?’ Gwyn said, shocked. Augus paused again, clearly uncomfortable that Gwyn was watching him. And then he nodded quickly.

‘Not usually, but if my species goes dry, we’ll absorb it through our pores.’ Augus sounded a strange combination of tense and ragged. His voice was warm, wetter. Gwyn blinked, closed his eyes, tried to remember...and then instantly an image came back from the past and he leaned forwards.

Gwyn wanted to say, _It’s turning you on, I remember what that sounds like,_ but he kept the words locked up in his mouth. He would know enough to be certain, soon enough. And he didn’t want to refer back to that time; it was obvious that it had meant more to Gwyn than it ever had to Augus.

‘Continue,’ Gwyn said, and Augus’ head turned to the side.  For a moment Gwyn could see his jaw working in frustration, and then Augus turned back to the bucket and continued.

The water was clearly worth more than his dignity. Gwyn would have to remember that for next time.

Augus moved onto his face, then his neck. Then he started on his hair. The first time he squeezed the sponge over it, his whole body shifted, and he reached out and braced himself with a hand on the wall. Gwyn watched hungrily as Augus’ fingers dug into the loamy earth, he took a deep, slow breath.

‘What’s it like?’ Gwyn said, his voice rougher.

Augus laughed under his breath, he sounded unsteady.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever been dry for so long before,’ Augus said, ‘it’s...I’m surprised you brought so much water. It’s in your best interests to keep me weak.’

‘What does it feel like?’ Gwyn said, persistent, and Augus reached down and soaked the sponge, then hesitated briefly, before squeezing the water directly over his scalp. He reached around and started wiping the back of his neck, removing damp earth. His breath shifted and hitched abruptly, and Gwyn realised that Augus had held back a noise.

Gwyn closed his eyes, he took a long, even breath. It was easier to focus, with the distance between them.

Augus continued, combing his fingers through his hair, squeezing out murky water until it ran clear. He moved onto his torso after that, trembling as he began. Gwyn had no doubt that Augus was aroused at this point. He wondered how much more powerful a lake would truly make him, whether it was worth the risk to see how Augus would react. After all, he was still underfae, wasn’t he? Still stripped of the majority of his powers. And Gwyn very much wanted to know how Augus would react to a _lake._

Augus was almost down to his feet, by the time Gwyn couldn’t take it anymore.

‘Touch yourself,’ he said, shifting around his own erection. ‘Do it, Augus.’

Augus paused, he straightened. He evened out his breathing, and Gwyn wondered if he was doing that for his own benefit, because Augus must have known that Gwyn could see how uneven his breathing had become. There would be no point in Augus making his breath steady now. He must have been doing that for himself.

‘Wrap your fingers around your cock, Augus,’ Gwyn said, letting each word fall explicit off his tongue, hooking into the consonants.

Augus made a small, wanton sound. He braced his forearm against the wall once more and leaned into it, dropped the sponge in the water with his other hand. Gwyn had expected far more resistance. He was instead pleased to see that Augus wasn’t having trouble fighting Gwyn’s suggestion, he was having trouble fighting his own impulses.

‘If you don’t do it, I will. And you won’t like it if I do it,’ Gwyn said, voice deepening.

‘Crude, but effective, I suppose,’ Augus said breathlessly. Gwyn licked his lips as Augus reached between his legs, and his eyes drank in every response. Augus refused to make a _sound,_ but his back had stopped moving in that telltale sign that he was holding his breath. His arm tensed and the forearm that was bracing himself against the wall ended in fingers that twitched at the motion.

Augus started moving his hand against himself and Gwyn narrowed his eyes.

‘Turn around,’ Gwyn said. ‘Show me.’

Augus muttered something derisive under his breath, his hand stilled. The discomfort was back, but Gwyn didn’t care. He wanted to watch, he liked the idea of watching Augus take himself apart. He thought he might learn something from the experience. This was his favourite kind of learning.

‘You have an active imagination, you don’t need to watch,’ Augus said, and Gwyn grinned, all teeth and nothing friendly about it.

‘It’s not like I’m watching you eat a person. Just turn around and show me.’

There was a long, drawn out pause, and then Augus released himself and turned around, still hard and torso marked with droplets of water, clean of dirt and catching the small amount of light in the cell. He met Gwyn’s eyes, looked meaningfully down at Gwyn’s crotch, as though inviting him to participate by touching himself also. Gwyn tensed in response.

That wasn’t something he often did. Not alone, not with others watching him.

‘Join me?’ Augus said, and Gwyn licked his lips. His hand shifted helplessly, moved towards his own cock. He stopped himself. He had more important things he wanted to do first, like watch.

Augus half-smiled.

‘You want a show?’ he said, pressing his palm against himself and then smoothing damp skin over the head of his cock. ‘I can give you a show.’

He teased himself a minute longer, rubbing his thumb over the head of himself. He reached down between his legs and cupped his balls, as though this was something he did all the time. Gwyn suddenly wanted to undo his breeches, wanted to bring himself off, knew it would be easier to do if Augus was doing the same thing. But he knew that if he did, he’d be finished long before Augus, and he wanted to _see._ He took a long, frustrated breath which Augus marked with his eyes, an amused glint causing them to narrow.

Augus leaned back against the wall and dropped his chin, eyes lowering to half-mast as he wrapped a hand around himself and started an uneven, slow rhythm. Gwyn watched, curious, and then looked up at Augus’ face, the way he no longer made eye contact. His hair clung limply to the side of his face, to his neck. Gwyn looked back down to Augus’ cock and swallowed.

He had a sudden impulse to move forwards, to kneel, to take Augus into his mouth. An urge to feel hands in his hair and listen to moans encouraging him, telling him that he was doing a good job. It was an old, old urge that he squashed down before it had any chance to take root in his mind. He could not afford to be that person here. He could not afford to be that person ever again. Not _ever._

‘That hand by your side,’ Gwyn said, ‘could be put to better use. Couldn’t it? How can you give me a show, if you’re only using one hand?’

Augus faltered in his movements and then lifted his gaze to Gwyn’s, something baleful in his sparked, green gaze. For all that Augus talked of putting on a show, Gwyn could see just how much discomfort was still present, that Gwyn had asked him to do this. If it wasn’t for the fact that Augus had been turned on so much by the water, Gwyn was sure Augus would have put up more serious resistance.

‘Go on,’ Gwyn said, standing and gesturing to Augus’ other hand.

Augus watched warily as Gwyn stood up and walked over, and Gwyn made a sound of annoyance when Augus’ other hand stayed still at his side. He reached over and grasped Augus by the wrist, and then raised his own hand up to guide Augus’ palm down his torso. Augus watched Gwyn, shivered.

‘I wonder,’ Gwyn said, as he threaded his fingers through Augus’ and dragged both of their hands across Augus’ chest, making sure that he caught his nipple with his fingernail. Augus hissed and his other hand against himself jerked. ‘I wonder how many would think your centre was dominance now, if they were meeting you for the first time.’

Augus closed his eyes and kept moving his hand over his cock, he seemed driven now, willing to get it over and done with. But Gwyn wasn’t done. He unthreaded his fingers through Augus’ and bent down, picking up the wet cloth from the bucket of water and crowding Augus, pressing the cool, dripping fabric against his shoulder and watching, mesmerised, as the water dripped down.

The sound that Augus made then was one that Gwyn was sure he’d be replaying for some time to come.

Gwyn bent down and soaked the cloth with more of the water, and then, pulling Augus’ hair away from his neck, pressed it against the corded muscle there, the thumping pulse at his carotid. Augus moaned outright, and then jerked his head away.

‘Will you stop?’ Augus gasped, and Gwyn laughed behind a closed mouth.

‘Are you finding it difficult to concentrate?’ Gwyn said, ‘I thought I was the one who was bad at multitasking.’

‘You _are,’_ Augus ground out, and then his back slumped harder against the wall and his chest heaved, as Gwyn rung the cloth out over his collarbone. ‘And let’s...not pretend that you planned this. You had no idea I’d react like this. _I_ had no idea I’d react like this. We both didn’t know this would happen.’

‘I’m adaptable,’ Gwyn said, ‘when it suits me. Don’t stop moving your hand against yourself, Augus, or I mean it...I will finish things for you. And it will _hurt.’_

‘I’m honestly surprised you haven’t fallen upon me like a rabid dog,’ Augus managed, moaning as he started moving his hand again, only able to stop the sound halfway through.

‘Maybe that’s coming,’ Gwyn said, pressing his hardness up against Augus’ hip, through the material of his breeches. ‘Maybe I’m waiting for you to be done first.’

Gwyn had no intention of burying himself in Augus. Not today. This was far more tantalising, and he looked down and watched Augus’ hand moving, that same, uneven, complicated rhythm that struck curiosity off in his mind. He hardly ever brought himself off, and when he did, he got it over and done with as quickly as possible; it was stress relief and nothing more. He had a basic, workmanlike way of bringing himself to completion. But Augus, even now, took to it with far more sophistication.

As Augus kept moving, Gwyn took himself out of his breeches and squeezed, hot as a brand against his palm. His mind tipped into a glorious, empty place. He looked down at Augus’ rhythm and mimicked it, brow furrowing, mouth pulling into a frown. Why would anyone ever bother with something so complicated? Still, he followed the rhythm and tipped his forehead against Augus’ shoulder, making sure he could still see that strange, looping rhythm.

‘Are you _copying_ me?’ Augus said, a despairing, amused note in his voice.

‘Shut up, Augus,’ Gwyn said, and realised that the rhythm really did loop in on itself. About once every seven strokes it went back to the beginning and started again. _What is the point of this?_

‘What is the point of this?’ Gwyn asked a moment later. Augus’ head thumped back against the wall and he groaned, his hand tightening. His mouth fell open, gusts of air huffed from his mouth, and Gwyn resisted the urge to let go of himself and wrap his hand around Augus, to override that rhythm and make Augus come with his own, harsher strokes. But he’d done that before, already, and so he shoved that part of himself back. It wasn’t easy. The more he moved his hand against himself, the less aware of his plans he became.

Augus’ back began to arch away from the wall, leaving his shoulders as the only point of contact. His torso stretched taut, and broken sounds were cut off in the back of his throat. His other hand was clenched by his side again, and Gwyn didn’t care. He abandoned Augus’ strange rhythm and focused on his own. And then, needing more, he bared his teeth and sank them into Augus shoulder, dragging the nails of his other hand down Augus’ ribs, needing that rougher, harder contact.

Augus’ tensed, shuddered as he came, cried out something that started off as a word and ended in a broken syllable. He tried to mute his movements, was trying so hard to stop Gwyn from seeing just how worked up he was, and that on its own was enough to push Gwyn over the edge. He followed almost immediately, silent, muscles contracting and expanding, over and over, until he was spent.

He stepped away and cleaned his hand in the bucket of water, before putting himself back in his pants. He stared at Augus, and then a rush of horror filled him.

_What am I doing?_

On the heels of that, a swirling contempt moved through him.

‘Honestly, Augus,’ Gwyn said, shaking his head as he flicked water onto the ground. ‘I thought you’d put up more of a fight than that. Only seven months ago, you were _King.’_

Augus hissed, stared at Gwyn with something like outrage before he quickly moved his face to stillness. Gwyn smoothed out his shirt with both of his hands.

‘You were supposed to be one of the best at playing the game, and instead you’re here, underground, a prisoner. So keep mocking me, keep telling me how uncouth and stupid I am. You did it back then, too. But you’re the one staying down here, and I’m the one going back up to my rooms, with my creature comforts. I bet you miss those, Augus,’ Gwyn said, letting that lax, feral rage that had been weighing his chest down since their last encounter push up and work its way out of him. He stared, satisfied, as Augus’ gaze turned from insulted to cautious. Augus straightened against the wall, his body tensed, as though he was preparing for a fight.

‘You can clean the outside all you want,’ Gwyn said, putting his foot on the bucket and upending the water, eyes narrowing as Augus made an abortive, desperate sound. ‘But as for the rest of you... a lying, torturing, base underfae... I don’t really know what to say about that.’

Gwyn laughed; a clipped, cruel sound.

‘I expected more fight from you, and instead I get this.’ He waved a hand in Augus’ direction. ‘I don’t need to withhold water from you to keep you _weak._ You _are_ weak.’

Augus said nothing, and when Gwyn looked at him, rage steadily petering away into an aloof, casual indifference, he saw that Augus had schooled his expression to the same hollow emotion lurking in Gwyn’s gut.

They maintained a cold eye contact until Gwyn decided he’d done what he came to do; alleviate his boredom, and remind himself that he was the one who had the upper hand. He dissolved into light, turning his mind to other matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, 'Status':
> 
> ‘Do they know?’ Augus said, eyes gleaming with amusement. ‘Do they know that dominating, powerful Gwyn is actually someone who submits so beautifully, so well, and _prefers_ it? Or is that something that only I found out? That you, with your reputation preceding you of being a coarse, rough, roll in the hay who must _always_ be on top and _always_ in control, was actually someone who sought me out? It wasn’t just madness that drove you to me.’


	5. Status

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I cherish every one of the kudos, subscriptions, bookmarks and follows to this. This story is important to me, which is weird as it really did just start out as angsty hate-porn, but I've grown quite close to these two characters. So folks along for the ride, please accept these hugs and also some coffee or tea.
> 
> No new tags for this chapter (some of the old ones apply though), and I've been fleshing out the tags in general.

Life was markedly easier when he thought of Augus as a prisoner first and anything else second. It was easier when he thought of ‘the prisoner’ down in his cell. He had amassed a variety of words to associate with Augus that pushed his name further and further away from the forefront of his mind. Underfae. The prisoner. The waterhorse.

His work as King continued apace. There were constant meetings, mediations, potential battles. He did his own cartography, fixed his own maps, so when he wasn’t meeting with other fae, he was often teleporting out to distant reaches in the otherworlds, checking and re-checking boundaries, making sure he knew where the major players of the Seelie fae resided. The constant travel would have kept him grounded if he could spend the time he wanted to in remote regions, but since the defeat of the Nightmare King, since the removal of the Each Uisge from power, the fae worlds were in unprecedented chaos, and Gulvi and Ash were still too new at their roles to manoeuvre with confidence. Gulvi needed his help, and he needed two stable Kingdoms.

It left a lot of work remaining.

Gwyn’s bitterness at being caught up in his job was a caustic sourness in his gut. He knew it made him crueller. The ‘family curse’, as Ondine would put it, edged closer. It was a merciless ridge in the back of his mind, difficult to repress, agitated around Court gossip, never soothed by the green, lush perfection that was the Seelie Court.

Days passed, and they drove his thoughts to dark places. Where hunting would sometimes suffice, instead he found himself wandering down towards the Seelie prison. It was deserted down this end of the Court. Older Kings had used the prison freely, and the energy of even the outer rooms was dark and gloomy. The residue of energy left behind from prisoners previously executed, tortured, left to wither, clung to the place; a last, mute appeal of the dead. Even before he entered the bole of the giant tree, it settled over him like a bleak pall.

The waterhorse had to be feeling it too.

Augus was standing insouciantly when he approached, head leaning back against the wall, eyes gazing sidelong at Gwyn. He looked brighter, fresher than he had the past few times, thanks to the water Gwyn had provided earlier. But he was still naked. Still showed signs of wasting. Still nothing like his former self.

‘Yesterday,’ Gwyn said, as he stepped through the invisible barrier. ‘Yesterday I had a family of waterfae come and petition me, very eloquently, for your death. You see, they had a daughter who had several cygnets ousted from her home. Do you remember her? No?’

Gwyn removed the lube from his pocket and held it up, turned it in his hand. He walked up to Augus, who tensed but did not shrink back against the wall. He took Augus’ hand in his own and drew it up, feeling slight resistance, and placed the lube in his palm. Pressing it harder than he needed to, glaring at Augus as he did so.

‘Let me guess,’ Augus drawled. ‘All the cygnets died. It was terribly sad. You came downstairs to fuck me to death? Well, I do suppose I have experienced your style before. If anyone could achieve it, you could.’

Gwyn smiled, a cold chill racing down his spine. Augus took a slower breath when he saw it. It was the only sign of how disturbed he was.

‘You will fuck yourself open with that,’ he looked down at the lube. ‘It’s the only preparation you’ll get.’

Augus exhaled slowly through his nose and his hand clenched around the vial.

‘I liked you more, when you were against a wall, and I looked down and your blood was on my cock,’ Augus said, voice flat and cutting. Gwyn swallowed at the crudity of it, almost shuddered at the memory it evoked. He hadn’t realised Augus had looked down and _seen,_ hadn’t realised a great deal at the time.

‘Do they know?’ Augus said, eyes gleaming with amusement. ‘Do they know that dominating, powerful Gwyn is actually someone who submits so beautifully, so well, and _prefers_ it? Or is that something that only I found out? That you, with your reputation preceding you of being a coarse, rough, roll in the hay who must _always_ be on top and _always_ in control, was actually someone who sought me out? It wasn’t just madness that drove you to me.’

Augus laughed at the expression he saw on Gwyn’s face.

‘They don’t know, do they?’

Gwyn swallowed. He preferred that even Augus not know, especially _now._ Besides, it wasn’t true anymore. Gwyn had...Gwyn had pushed that part of himself aside. He couldn’t afford it.

Augus uncapped the vial of lubricant with a precise pop, pouring it onto his fingers one-handed, glaring at Gwyn all the while. He held the vial out to Gwyn once he was done, who took it absently, pocketing it and feeling his heart beat faster. It didn’t matter how cutting Augus was, he still had to press his fingers up inside of himself, still had to do it while Gwyn watched.

‘It’s this, or nothing at all,’ Gwyn said, and Augus raised his eyebrows.

‘Please,did that really need to be said?’

Augus pressed his shoulders back into the wall so he could arch his lower body forwards. He didn’t look away from Gwyn as he lowered his hand, slick with lube, behind his back. There was a tense, rebellious expression on his face, in the tight set to his lips, the narrowing at the corner of his eyes.

‘You don’t want me to turn around?’ Augus said silkily. ‘I could bend over. Give you a better view.’

‘I’ll get my view when I fuck myself into you,’ Gwyn said, ‘For now I want to watch your face.’

Augus’ brow furrowed for a second, then smoothed again. He was hesitating, and the knowledge was a fire at the base of Gwyn’s spine. The stress of the days that had built upon one another began to coalesce in a thick, warm mass. It sparked inside of him. It was tiny bursts of light behind his eyes.

‘Spread your legs.’

Gwyn pressed his palm to Augus’ hip-bone, and muscles jumped beneath his skin. Augus shifted his legs apart reluctantly, but his breathing remained even. His eyes gleamed green, unusually bright even in the dimness of the cell. There was a strange, liminal quality about them, most other waterhorses didn’t have eyes so vivid. Even as underfae, that quality remained. Gwyn had always assumed it was connected to the strength of his abilities, but perhaps not.

‘Hurry up,’ Gwyn said, and Augus swallowed silently. His eyelids lowered and Gwyn leaned forwards, dragging his hand up Augus’ torso, over his ribs. He felt the minute shifts in Augus’ arm as he shifted his hand behind himself. And then, _there,_ Augus inhaled more sharply than before, his brow furrowed again. His shoulder shifted and Augus blinked lazily, he licked at chapped lips.

‘Two. Now,’ Gwyn said, and Augus hissed a disapproval at him, but all the same his arm moved again and he Gwyn felt Augus’ body tense under his hand. Augus’ eyes closed and his body began to rock with the movement of stretching himself open. And Gwyn wanted to see, he did, but there was something about watching Augus’ expressions that kept him in place. He scraped fingernails down Augus’ skin and repeated the movement as Augus’ breathing became more unsteady

‘Is there a class lower than underfae? Because I think you’ve found it.’

Augus’ eyes shot open, the rhythmic movement of his arm, awkwardly tucked behind his back faltered.

‘ _Hurry up,’_ Gwyn said, voice dropping in tone.

But Augus had stilled entirely, staring at Gwyn like he didn’t quite recognise him.

‘You weren’t always like his,’ Augus said, cautiously.

‘Then we’ve both changed,’ Gwyn said.

‘Six months in a cell and I’m feeling clearer than ever. Perhaps you should join me down here, in the dark. Oh, but wait, you do.’

‘If you don’t keep at it, I will hurt you more than you want to be hurt,’ Gwyn said, and Augus rolled his eyes, sighed as though terribly bored, and his arm began moving again.

‘What comes to mind most, at this juncture,’ Augus said, voice smooth, ‘Is the fact that you’re only able to do this to me, because I’m trapped here. But that once you came to me voluntarily, and abased yourself before me, and _begged_ for it. Do you feel like you’re playing in the big leagues now? Hm? Are you enjoying that thrill of power, watching me fuck myself open for you? Of course you do. But you’re not in the big leagues, Gwyn. You’re just taking what you can from me, because you’re too embarrassed to _beg_ for it again.’

Gwyn’s hand turned into a hard grip over Augus’ side. A wash of anger moved through him, and he was about to lunge forwards, about to pull Augus down by his hair when he saw that flicker of triumph move over Augus’ face. He’d recognise it anywhere. For a long time it was a look he wore himself. Gwyn paused, reassessed quickly, and then his hand trailed casually, almost lazily over Augus’ skin.

‘I’m taking what I want from you, because I defeated you. I believe the big leagues are when the King of the Seelie fae actively demotes and imprisons the King of the Unseelie fae. What do you say? Honestly I think I was there long before I convinced your brother to betray you. But surely, by your standards, that would have been the moment I stepped up to the plate.’

Augus’ other arm rose reflexively to strike, his hand twisted into claws and then he stopped himself, forced his breathing to calm. His eyes fixed in a glare though, and Gwyn could see that his teeth were gritted behind his closed mouth. Gwyn found it fascinating, enjoyed the hunger that rose in him, prodding at Augus like this. Augus wasn’t traditionally easy to provoke, instead choosing to provoke others. But here, now, Gwyn was free to do as he liked.

He reached behind Augus and trailed the backs of his fingers down Augus’ arm until he reached the back of his hand. The movement brought him closer to Augus’ body, arched away from the wall. Augus looked very much like he hated Gwyn, in that moment. Gwyn’s mouth turned up in a half-smile and he grasped Augus’ hand in his own, forcing his fingers up deeper inside of himself. Augus’ breath hitched.

Gwyn moved his hand down further, until he could cup Augus’ balls. At that, Augus tensed, and Gwyn nodded in silent acknowledgement, squeezing slowly, increasing the pressure until Augus’ nostrils flared, until his mouth tightened.

‘Three,’ Gwyn ordered, and a muscle in Augus’ jaw jumped. In different circumstances, Gwyn knew that he’d be risking retaliation, but he literally had Augus by the balls, and that was a singularly good feeling.

If there was a sting as Augus slid in his third finger, he masked it well. Which was why Gwyn slid his hand back over Augus’ and pushed his hand forward again, drinking in the way Augus winced, the sharp inhale. It was getting harder to restrain himself, now. He was uncomfortably hard in the confines of his own pants. He curled his fingers around Augus’ hand and started moving it back and forth, knowing he was straining at Augus’ wrist in the process, that it must have ached all the way up his arm.

But listening to the way Augus’ breathing altered was just too good to pass up. Augus’ discomfort, his awareness of the intensity of what was happening was not in loud cries or protests, but in the slight tension and release of his body. In the way he deliberately held his breath after each inhale. It was in the way his whole hand trembled after Gwyn pushed particularly hard. Each small, contained reaction added up as flares inside of Gwyn’s body, until he realised that he didn’t want to wait much longer, he didn’t have to. He’d given Augus plenty of time.

He removed Augus’ fingers roughly, drinking down that small sound of discomfort. He grabbed him by the torso and turned him bodily. It was easy enough then to push the ball of his foot behind Augus’ knee to force him down to the ground, to push him between the shoulder blades so that both of his hands came up involuntarily to brace himself on the tree root bench. Augus may have been strong, but Gwyn was always stronger. Gwyn had been stronger even when Augus was King. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d met a fae stronger than he was.

Gwyn opened his pants and freed himself, bracing one hand up against the wall and bending over Augus’ body, taking a fistful of damp hair up in his hand.

‘Talk to me some more about defeat,’ Gwyn said coldly, and Augus’ chest heaved with laughter.

‘Is that what you want? Truly? _Conversation?’_

‘No,’ Gwyn said, and lined himself up, ‘I want to fuck you.’

He pushed himself in and slid deep in a single stroke, throwing his head back, groaning at the heat and slickness of it. Augus jerked once beneath him, and Gwyn bared his teeth down at his back, pulling Augus’ legs apart further, before getting a better fix on how he wanted to brace himself against the wall of the cell.

He grasped Augus’ hip with his spare hand and held him steady as Gwyn began to fuck into him with long, deep, relentless strokes. Augus tried to keep his breathing under control, but within seconds he was exhaling audibly with every thrust. And as Gwyn picked up his pace, snapping his hips forwards and dragging Augus back into him, Augus groaned and his head dropped, shoulders trembling.

‘Now that I’m fucking you,’ Gwyn said, ‘Tell me again about how I begged you, back then. Go on.’

There was no response except for the rough, unsteady breathing of Augus, who seemed to be trying to pull himself together with little success. Gwyn leaned down and bit at the back of Augus’ shoulder over his previous bite mark, thrilled at the increase in trembling. He licked at the marks he’d left behind. Augus was warm all around him, none of that lukewarm surface temperature. He was snug and the friction was delicious even with the lube.

‘Can’t reply?’ Gwyn breathed. ‘Still getting used to me? You’re fucking tight, Augus.’

‘Saved myself...for you,’ Augus said, and then bit out a small, despairing laugh.

Gwyn knew it was intended as a joke. He knew the words were meaningless, a dig at his own captivity, but they sent a rush of heat down the back of Gwyn’s spine all the same.

Gwyn dug his fingers into the wall, became more ruthless in his rhythm. He slammed his hips up against Augus, would have rocked him over if Gwyn didn’t have fingers digging into his hipbone.

Augus’ breath caught in his chest, a moment later he growled in the back of his throat.

‘Tone it _down_ ,’ Augus managed, voice strained.

‘I didn’t hear you,’ Gwyn said, each word falling on a separate thrust. ‘Did you say _harder?’_

Because there was always harder. Gwyn grinned and sunk his teeth into Augus’ shoulder once more, over the original bite mark. He stayed deep inside, moving only a couple of inches before coming back, forceful and fast, demanding a reaction. And Augus gave it; short, single syllables of sound that caught in the back of his throat, some bitten off, involuntarily given. They were unwanted sounds that Augus didn’t want to express, and Gwyn was hungry for every single one.

His teeth broke the skin on Augus’ shoulder, and he moved so he could bite at the flesh on the opposite side, possessive, sensations like lava pooling together down near his balls. He was close.

He paused for a few seconds, and felt a liquid rush of pleasure when Augus dragged in a huge gulp of air, then another. He reached around and was surprised when – brushing between Augus’ legs –Augus was hard against his fingers.

‘Really?’ Gwyn said. ‘Didn’t expect this.’

‘Fuck you,’ Augus managed, and Gwyn laughed.

‘I _am.’_

He shifted so he could keep his hand around Augus’ cock, and then found a rhythm again. A little slower than before, less concerned with driving himself to orgasm as quickly as possible. This was far more intriguing. He moved his hand in powerful, firm motions, reaching up and dragging the callous on his thumb – years of swordfighting turning his fingers rough – over the head of Augus’ cock.

Augus cried out then, when he realised what Gwyn was doing.

‘You don’t need this from me,’ Augus said, and Gwyn looked down at him through lidded eyes.

‘I do.’

‘You _don’t.’_ The desperation in his voice was a balm. All day, all week, Gwyn had been soothing others, dealing with everyone’s difficulties. Not only that, but after weeks of soothing the hurts of others, reminding them that Augus was captured, hearing the grief in the voices of other fae...this was exactly what he’d needed.

‘Tell me again about defeat,’ Gwyn said, slowing down further, ‘Tell me about these mythical big leagues that I’m not a part of. Tell me about how it felt, looking down, seeing my blood on your cock, all that time ago, back when you used to be someone.’

Augus growled again, and Gwyn laughed, thrusting hard, speeding the movements of his hand. He wished he had lubricant for this part, but Augus had come from rough before.

‘I look at you, and all I see is someone who – after barely more than five minutes under the duress of those shadows – voluntarily surrendered his Kingship. You didn’t even _try._ ’

Augus cried out, bucked beneath him, actually strained to get away and Gwyn laughed again.

‘The truth hurts, doesn’t it? Now, will you hurry up, and fucking _come_ for me?’

Gwyn redoubled his efforts, focused on the movements of his hand, dropped his forehead to the bumps of Augus’ spine. His hearing focused as it often did when he was out in the wild. His senses strained towards Augus, feeling for the minute tremors in his muscles, looking for the moment Augus conceded to what was happening. Gwyn’s mouth opened hungrily when Augus cried out a sound that was pleasure and frustration, his softer voice taking on a vivid edge.

‘Good,’ Gwyn managed, and Augus’ spine arched, his cry of frustration thinning out into a faint, broken whimper. His whole body tightened, and Gwyn hissed at the sensation of it, his hand flexed where Augus swelled in his grip, he bit once more when he felt Augus come over fingers that had risen up to catch the hot liquid only to smear it back down again.

Gwyn tasted Augus’ blood in his mouth, felt Augus clench around him and his mind went mercifully blank. Tension that had been coiling in him for far too long shattered outwards, they were lashes of light that flicked beneath his skin and scoured his major veins and arteries. He gasped, hoarse, and came hard, riding waves of pained pleasure with a handful of unsteady, deep thrusts.

He needed time to catch his breath, gather his thoughts together. Augus remained still beneath him, breathing already slow and even once more. Augus gave no sign that he’d been drawn into orgasm, even with Gwyn’s hand still around his softening cock and Gwyn still inside of him. Gwyn took a breath, sighed it out.

He withdrew, tucked himself back into his pants and decided a long, hot shower was in order. He looked at the bite marks he’d made across Augus’ shoulders as Augus straightened into a standing position, and decided he would have to take him down to the lake. He wanted to see how Augus would react to all that water, wanted to see him outside of the confines of the cell.

‘I can see it so clearly now,’ Augus said, stretching his arms out and then laying a hand over one of the wounds on his shoulder. He drew his fingers back, wet with blood, and shook his head almost indulgently. Gwyn frowned.

‘What?’

‘What a great job you have done, taking after your father.’

Gwyn’s blood ran cold. Gooseflesh raised all along his skin.

_No, I am nothing like-_

‘Same mannerisms-’

_No._

‘Same look in your eye around the topic of _subjugation-_ ’

_No, this-_

‘I bet,’ Augus said, directing a bored look at his fingernails. ‘I would place money on the fact that you fuck like him, too. Are you _sure_ your centre is justice?’

‘I’m not like-’

‘You _are,’_ Augus said, smiling. ‘But, now, let’s not hold you up. Don’t you have a Kingdom to run?’

Gwyn stared.

‘You are not kicking me out of your _cell.’_

_'_ Wouldn’t _dream_ of it. After all, I’m lower than underfae, and you’re a great, righteous, _just_ King. Stay then. Let’s have a conversation about how much like your father you are. I seem to recall that you didn’t want to turn out like him when you came to me that first time. I seem to recall that you begged me to break you of it; the family curse. Do you remember?’

Augus sat down languidly, showing no signs of having been thoroughly fucked, stretching his legs out and crossing them at the ankles, completely unconcerned at the stripe of come that Gwyn could see across his torso. Gwyn could feel his heart still beating. A thunderous race that made his head feel too full. His hand was still sticky where he’d caught Augus’ ejaculate. Augus watched him all the while, and then smirked.

‘Sit down, join me,’ Augus practically purred. ‘Let’s reminisce.’

Prisoner. Underfae. Waterhorse. It wasn’t working. Gwyn blinked rapidly, willed what had stirred in him down, so he didn’t have to feel it anymore. He became aware that he was breathing too fast. Even in the dimness, the outline of Augus’ smile was clear, there was a cruel cast to his eyes. Gwyn swallowed and felt his light tugging at him, wanting to whisk him away to another location.

Augus always picked this moment to strike, had done it before when Gwyn was disoriented and vulnerable. But _still._ Gwyn found the shreds of his anger, actively sought them out. He’d come down to try and purge himself of them, but standing here, he felt too exposed, too naked without them. He cobbled them back together and felt something approaching that dark, inflexible mood come back to him.

He wiped his hand off on his shirt, idly.

‘Oliver,’ Gwyn said quietly. ‘Tallow. Avia. Pinion. Imbris. And their mother, Olivette. All underfae. Every one of them dead. Wasted away. Children without a home who were utterly dependent on a lake they’d had for millennia. And their family, because you know how it is with swan underfae, they care for each other, they have big families... you should have heard their relatives. They were very convincing. I had no truly good reason for why you aren’t dead yet.’

The smirk had faded from Augus’ face, and his face had turned serious. He didn’t look away from Gwyn, his eyes were hard to read.

‘Lludd would have killed you immediately, without a second thought,’ Gwyn said, thinking back to his father’s actions. ‘The only time he would have afforded you, is the time it took for him to think of the best method that he would enjoy. I think that-’

‘You’re very like him,’  Augus said, no sting in his voice. That, somehow, made it a great deal worse. That Augus could say it calmly, even gently, like this. ‘Actually, in some ways, I think more than your first cousin.’

The words registered as a physical blow, Gwyn took a step back.

‘I have to leave,’ Gwyn said, and forced himself to walk through the barrier, forced himself not to simply teleport away.

‘You’ll be back,’ Augus called, a smile thick in his voice. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, 'Retaliation:'
> 
> ‘Cousin, you always look so uncomfortable around me, when it’s just the two of us. Why is that? You healed back then didn’t you? Surely you don’t _still_ bear grudges against the way we played as children. I was young. You can’t hold that against me.’
> 
> (OMG we meet another character. Hint: it's Efnisien).


	6. Retaliation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEW tags for this chapter: Violence, Family Issues, References to Past Abuse, Hand Jobs (I should've put that one in earlier whoops), Betrayal, Flashbacks
> 
> (A note on the tags - old tags will often apply too). 
> 
> *
> 
> THANK YOU to everyone who is reading, commenting, kudos'ing, subscribing and bookmarking. May your lives never be graced with someone like Efnisien's presence. o.o

Sometimes fae whispered about the ‘family curse’ that affected Gwyn’s family. He’d never had any idea what they meant as a child, and his father had dismissed it, saying that people mistook the ability to get what one wanted using whatever means possible as madness. It was true that Gwyn’s entire family were prone to fits of terrifying violence and cruelty, and it was certainly true that at a certain point, that cruelty tended to stabilise as a permanent character trait. His mother, father, cousin Efnisien, Efnisien’s parents...they had never been cursed, they were not insane, they were simply damaging, cruel people.

What other fae called the ‘family curse,’ was – to Gwyn – something he didn’t quite understand. Not until he’d gotten older, had seen battle. Not until his centre had changed to triumph that first time, turning him harder, making him more like his father in mannerisms and action.

He didn’t want to be cruel. Yet there was a darkness inside of him, a breadth of cruelty that crept upon him. The harder be became, while forcing himself to serve the Kingdom, the more it sprawled out of him. He could feel it – a pulsing, thumping beast that hungered. He’d spent what felt like his whole life trying to avoid it, only to find that he’d come full circle. It pressed into his mind, sat thick and heavy in the back of his throat.

Augus had compared him to his father. Had said he was more like his father than _Efnisien._

It was one thing to be called cruel or heartless, he’d heard that from people in the past. It was quite another to hear a direct comparison and realise that perhaps it was apt. It struck at the heart of him, left him dazed for days after his last encounter with Augus.

He knew what kind of person Lludd was, knew better than most what his family were truly like, what hid beneath the facades and glamours they presented to the Seelie Court. Augus knew it too. Augus could make an unflinching comparison and it be true.

He didn’t _want_ to be like his father. All this time he’d been telling himself that distancing himself from Augus, treating him cruelly, attacking him...it was necessary, it was the sort of thing anyone would do to keep a prisoner like that under control. He knew that fae Kings and Queens had done it in the past; there were records and scrolls and ledgers detailing a vast array of how to break dangerous prisoners. And all this time he was doing the sort of thing his father might do, his cousin. It turned his stomach, left him out of sorts. He avoided Augus. He avoided a great deal except the work of his Kingdom.

But once he’d admitted to himself that he didn’t want to be someone like his father, he knew that he had no reason to keep seeing Augus if he didn’t want to subjugate him anymore, didn’t want to harm him.

And that was a problem.

He still wanted to see Augus.

Two weeks later, Gwyn was sinking hours per day into sword-training, into wrestling and fighting, into advising generals and different species of fae in how to best protect their land and their homes from those who might want to encroach on them. He saw those who made formal petitions to see him; people who wanted his assistance on quests, in family disputes, in a myriad of matters that he was – for once – grateful for. Something to lose himself in.

He was tired. Since the nightmare brought upon him by the Nightmare King while he’d been climbing the mountain with Jack, ancient hurts that he’d thought he’d put behind him stirred more readily in his sleep, and he found himself unconsciously, then consciously avoiding rest for as long as possible. He knew the sleep deprivation made him unstable, but the nightmares themselves left him off kilter, disarmed, vulnerable. He woke up feeling needy, and after thousands of years of waking up from nightmares, alone and needing a level of comfort that he was almost certain didn’t exist for someone like him...he couldn’t bear willingly accepting sleep as a reality. He pushed it back, and back, until finally it devoured him and left him insensate on his bed. Often for days at a time.

Exhausted, but not yet tired enough for sleep to force its way into him, Gwyn spent one early evening in his map room, carefully inking out cartographical sketches he’d painstakingly made of a remote, treacherous otherworldly region that was little travelled. It showed promise as a possible location of lesser known species of fae, and though the environment was hostile, his King’s healing meant that he could withstand blasts of sulphurous heat, or shards of obsidian sharp enough to cut through his boots. He inked it out in red and dark brown, noting down locations and losing himself in the painstaking work.

He’d shown promise as a cartographer from a very early age, but Lludd pushed him into battle, and so Gwyn kept it up as a side hobby. His maps were appreciated, duplicated, studied, but even if no one knew they existed, he’d still make them.

His hand stilled at an unexpected knock at the door. He managed not to smear the ink. It was a small knock, and Gwyn knew it was one of the trows that served within the palace. They hardly ever interrupted him. He got up immediately and opened the door.

The trow looked up at him, eyes wide, panicked, and Gwyn frowned, a stir of worry in his tired mind.

‘What is it?’

The trows almost never spoke, and even now – terrified – it signed a location instead of speaking any words. Gwyn teleported, taking the trow’s spindly fingers within his own with a gentle grip. Aside from a habit of stealing the silver, trows were gentle creatures. Something was wrong.

He ended up in one of the outer circle rooms, where the Court sometimes spilled over into his palace. And there, in a room mostly constructed of moss and tree trunks, with seats of stone and mushrooms, Efnisien stood. He leered over another trow who was clutching at a freshly broken arm, paralysed with fright.

Gwyn’s mouth went dry, rage and dread both warred inside of him, but rage won. The trows were defenceless creatures that only wanted to help and assist.

‘What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing in my palace, to my servants?’

Efnisien straightened, deep blue eyes glittering with a dry amusement.

‘Oh, cousin, I mean – _King –_ it’s so hard to get your attention.’

Gwyn knelt before the trow, drew her dazed attention with a gentle hand underneath her chin, and looked back over at the trow who had summoned him. It had taken a lot of courage for the other trow to do that, and Gwyn grimaced.

‘Can you take her to Pazhna?’ he asked. ‘Tell her it’s on the King’s orders.’

The trow nodded, ears pushed back, eyes still blank with fright. Then she came forwards hurriedly and drew the other trow with the broken arm away. As soon as they were safely out of the room, the sounds of their running footsteps echoed.

Efnisien tilted his head towards the sound, an appreciative expression on his face, as though he were listening to a favourite moment in a symphony.

Efnisien and Gwyn were of an age, obviously related. People who didn’t know them – especially in the past before they’d established themselves – assumed they were brothers. Efnisien was only several years older than Gwyn, hardly an age difference at all amongst the fae.

Where Gwyn was pale, Efnisien was golden. His hair wasn’t white-blond, but honeyed, curled short around his features. Gwyn’s pale skin stood in contrast to the natural tan of Efnisien’s, which he’d inherited from his father’s side of the family. But he had the classic deep blue eyes, the full lips, the aquiline nose. And though Gwyn was broader, more muscular, Efnisien was still a trained warrior, fit and angular, with a natural resource of dra’ocht that oozed from him and covered his sociopathic tendencies. Gwyn, on the other hand, had to learn how to make dra’ocht, had to force it. When he wasn’t concentrating, he possessed no natural fae glamour, which put the other fae on edge.

When the sound of footsteps disappeared, Efnisien tilted his head back towards Gwyn, offered him a lazy attention.

‘I could have you barred from this Court,’ Gwyn said. He wanted nothing more than to smash his fist into Efnisien’s face, to run him down with his sword. That was a common instinct he had around his cousin, and he had to repress it, keep things formal.

‘Could you?’ Efnisien said in a cultured baritone at odds with his uncultured cruelty. ‘What would your mother say? Cousin, cousin, _Gwyn,_ we both know that she would whisper the favour of the Court against you if you did such a thing.’

‘Attacking the trows? You are a _monster,’_ Gwyn’s teeth gritted together. It was becoming harder to stay rational. He realised, belatedly, that he was shaking with rage. The trows were _defenceless._

‘Jealous?’ Efnisien said, smiling.

‘You wanted my attention, you’ve got it.’

‘Cousin, you always look so uncomfortable around me, when it’s just the two of us. Why is that? You healed back then didn’t you? Surely you don’t _still_ bear grudges against the way we played as children. I was young. You can’t hold that against me.’

‘True,’ Gwyn said, voice cold. ‘I’m sure your torture methods are far more sophisticated now. Except, of course, when they are not. Breaking an arm to get someone’s attention? Let’s be candid. You were simply looking for sport.’

‘Is it sport?’ Efnisien said. ‘I can’t help it. I’m just a victim to my centre, as we all are. For me it’s nourishment, it sustains me. Speaking of centres. Do you remember when your centre was triumph? You started to understand it then, the _need._ And, let’s be candid, to borrow a phrase. You know what I’m talking about. You love the break and crunch of bone and the splatter of viscera, you just need it to be in battle. You’ve always been the weak link in the family. You need excuses for what you do. I do not. _’_

Gwyn glared. If it was anyone else who had committed such an atrocity against the trows, Gwyn would have exiled them from the Court.

It was difficult with his family. His mother Crielle had spent far longer in the Seelie Court than he ever had. The cliques, the power, they primarily rested with her. Efnisien was her star pupil, the one she fawned over the most.

So if he sent Efnisien out of his palace run through with a sword, or worse, exiled him...

‘Tell me why you’re here, I’m growing bored.’

‘Ah, well, there’s a Seelie artefact I’d like access to. You’re the only one I can ask, on account of you being King and all.’

‘Is that so, Efnisien? Well, perhaps you should have thought about the likelihood of me saying yes, after you broke that trow’s arm. Go on then, ask me nicely.’

‘Oh no,’ Efnisien said, with an affected dismay that was so exactly like his mother that Gwyn started to wonder if it was too late to go hunting.

It was never too late to go hunting. He needed to kill something.

‘Don’t be like that,’ Efnisien said, grinning, ‘Or shall I go crying to your mother like some craven taddle-tale, because you won’t help me? It’s a shame your father isn’t still alive. I would simply ask him to _make_ you give it to me. Oh, but, he lost control over you didn’t he? _Eventually._ That’s right. When you lived in a forest. Like a beast. I remember now. How are you a part of this family again?’

And Augus thought Gwyn was more like his father than _Efnisien._ It jarred at him, especially now. He didn’t _want_ this. He didn’t want to be like them. He did things that he wasn’t proud of, things he couldn’t think about, but he didn’t want to be someone who openly courted the cruelty.

Out of the two of them – Augus and his cousin – Augus was the preferable monster. Augus could be prone to cruelty, enjoyed inflicting pain, but the cruellest of his actions had been driven by a need to escape or deny the torment he’d experienced. Efnisien’s simply grew from pleasure and sport, encouraged by elders who loved to break their toys. It was startling to realise that Augus, in his cell, was preferable to this.

‘I’d ask you to name the artefact, but my answer is no,’ Gwyn said, and Efnisien’s eyes glittered with a frosty anger at being turned down so quickly.

‘I’m one of your citizens. You _have_ to hear me out.’

Efnisien stepped closer to Gwyn – the precise, cautious steps of a hunter edging up on its prey. Gwyn didn’t move, ignored a distant thread of apprehension. Nurtured, instead, the coil of fury that was still suppressed inside of him.

_Come closer, Efnisien. Get within striking distance. Please._

‘The artefact, by the way, is the Grimswold. You shouldn’t be the only one who gets to enjoy this near-invulnerability, yes? Share it amongst your family. Because you _love_ us.’

As soon as Efnisien was within range, Gwyn stepped forwards with speed and smashed his fist into the side of Efnisien’s face before his cousin could get out of the way. Gone were the days when Gwyn was the younger, weaker teenager. And Efnisien couldn’t match him for reflexes or training, because Efnisien was prone to bouts of laziness, and Gwyn kept his skills honed.

Efnisien dropped, unable to absorb the blow. The status difference alone meant that Gwyn had cracked his skull, had broken his eye socket. Efnisien would heal rapidly, being Court status, but the blow was damaging.

‘Go crawling back to mother like some craven taddle-tale, Efnisien. Tell her whatever you wish. You are not getting the Grimswold; it is a sacred artefact, not a toy. If you think a few bruises on your face will turn favour against me, perhaps you truly underestimate how much I’ve done for this Kingdom.’

Efnisien staggered upright, laughing, a jovial gleam in his eyes. Violence never bothered him; not violence to himself, or violence to others. He pressed fingers into a split over his eyebrow, opened the wound so that blood streamed like a rivulet of tears along the outside of his face.

‘Damn,’ Efnisien said, chuckling. ‘Some right hook you’ve got there, cousin. What a far cry you are, from that kid I used to torment back in the day. I miss the old days. I suppose you wouldn’t. And no Grimswold? Look there’s blood on my suit.’

Efnisien took off his suit jacket. He took the sleeve and dabbed at the blood on his face until it was mostly gone, and then folded the jacket neatly and draped it over his arm.

‘It was only _one_ trow,’ Efnisien said, incredulous. ‘They’re trash. I suppose when you came into the Kingdom, trash _would_ follow.’

‘Why are you here?’ Gwyn said again. The Grimswold couldn’t have been it, Efnisien must have known there was no chance that Gwyn would give it to him.

‘I missed you,’ Efnisien said, smiling with delight at his own lie. ‘Wanted to see how you’ve been faring. Mother says you’ve been unwell lately. I wanted to check in on my dear, baby cousin. Can’t have been easy, vanquishing all that evil, languishing under the praise of an entire Kingdom. You see, we can understand perfectly well why you’d look uneasy _during_ a battle; but it’s over now, Gwyn! It’s over!’

The mock reassurance in Efnisien’s tone gave way to something terrible in his gaze, and Gwyn cursed himself for not expecting the attack. Efnisien lunged forwards and tripped Gwyn up, pushing him down to the ground and landing with his knee in Gwyn’s gut.

‘It’s always so physical between us, isn’t it?’ Efnisien said, landing a vicious punch to his ribs. Gwyn caught his breath, pushed Efnisien away. Efnisien rolled off easily. Gwyn was stronger now, and Efnisien wouldn’t seriously fight him.

Only wanted to catch him off guard. Only wanted the rabbit-thump of fear in Gwyn’s heart, which he was no doubt attuned to.

‘You look like you could use a break,’ Efnisien said, standing again. ‘Being King should make you happy, not...whatever you are now. We’re just concerned for you. Your mother and I. Very concerned.’

‘Get out,’ Gwyn said, already standing. The pain in his ribs was already fading.

_I didn’t move out of the family estate only to get treated like this in the Seelie Court._

Efnisien took a deep breath and grinned.

‘I just like tormenting you,’ he said.

_That_ was the truth.

‘It’s been a while,’ Efnisien said. ‘I don’t often visit the Court. And I just wanted to rile you up a little, cousin. Forgive me, it’s not something I can do much about. My centre, and all that. You know how it goes. You _did_ anyway. When your centre was triumph you couldn’t let go of a single argument without getting the last line in. You were much more entertaining then. I’m afraid your banter is rather dour now.’

Efnisien mocked a bow at him, and then raised his eyebrows happily. It must have hurt his face, but Efnisien was peculiarly invulnerable to pain.

‘You’ll probably be seeing a bit more of me, over the next few months. I am – I must say – really, really looking forward to it. See you around, dear cousin.’

And with that, Efnisien teleported away in a fine wisp of smoke, leaving the faint scent of char behind him.

Gwyn teleported out of the room, back into his map-room. Once there, he took several deep breaths, calming himself.

No. Why now? Why would Efnisien be interested in spending more time in the Seelie Court, now of all times? He was too tired to figure it out, it became a clotted mess in his mind.

He was _not_ like Efnisien, he was _not_ like his father.

Augus was wrong.

Gwyn sat down heavily on the single cot in the room, pressing a hand to his forehead. He couldn’t talk to Albion or Ondine about these matters. He couldn’t talk to anyone about them. He found himself in the precarious position of wanting to see Augus and no longer wanting to torment him. He couldn’t justify that. It turned the whole situation into something he didn’t have a word for. They’d once been friends, and he...wanted that back.

Gwyn laughed at himself. The sound was broken. He didn’t know how to have friends. It didn’t surprise him that he’d pick the one person who couldn’t get away from him – the _prisoner –_ as a possible target. The person he’d been attacking and trying to break down. Gwyn laughed until his voice shattered, and he lay back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, listening to the beat of his heart in his own ears.

Gwyn knew what insanity looked like. And he knew – deep down – that Augus had somehow stepped back from the worst of his madness some time ago. During his isolation, most likely. Augus was unlike Gwyn’s family, who courted it freely. And Augus was even unlike Gwyn, who stumbled into madness and couldn’t let it go again.

Augus – Unseelie and prisoner in the Seelie Court – was definitely the preferable monster.

*

Two days later, worry tripped Gwyn into a profound insomnia. And in the early hours of the morning, after having silently checked in on a sleeping trow whose arm was still healing, he teleported into Augus’ cell.

Augus never seemed to sleep either. He was sitting on the tree-root bench as he often did, his eyes lidded in that state of semi-meditation that he seemed to enter.

‘I did say you’d be back,’ Augus said, voice smooth, soft. ‘Come on then, fuck me and get it over with.’

Augus sounded bored, and when Gwyn didn’t respond, he opened his eyes properly and took in Gwyn’s appearance.

‘You look _dreadful,’_ Augus said. ‘Battle go wrong? Strategy didn’t pan out? Come to tell me you’re not like your father at all and how dare I and etcetera before raping me to prove yourself right?’

Augus laughed quietly. Gwyn realised that Augus was also tired. There were circles under his eyes. His mouth was drawn. He wondered what the isolation was like for him. How often he thought of his brother. If he worried when Gwyn would reappear, and what would happen next.

‘I want to try something,’ Gwyn said, and Augus tilted his head back against the wall and shrugged.

‘So try it.’

Augus didn’t even move. Gwyn stepped towards him, pushing away the myriad of voices in his mind that told him this was _beyond_ reason, this was...this would change everything. He placed his hands around Augus’ upper arms, and looked down at him.

It was only when Gwyn dissolved them both into light, teleporting them out of the cell, that Augus’ eyes flew open. He stiffened in Gwyn’s hands, but Gwyn had a sure grip, and he knew where he was going.

When they landed, Gwyn let go, took a single step back. He was wary, but confident. They were still in the Seelie Court, within the safety of Gwyn’s palace. Augus was still a prisoner, still couldn’t escape.

Augus froze when he saw the lake. He stared at the water, his pupils expanding rapidly and his hands tensing. His whole body was a thrumming mass of tension.

Gwyn watched him. He half-expected Augus to make a run for the water, with an expression like that. But he didn’t. After several minutes, Augus tore his eyes away from the lake and stared at Gwyn in something like horror.

‘Perhaps you might tell me now, what you want in exchange for _that.’_

His voice was raw, and his eyes slid back to the lake again. His hands clenched into fists. Gwyn watched Augus, and then looked around the room itself.

When he’d first altered the Oak King’s palace, he’d been determined to make it fit his tastes. He’d wanted a sense of the forest within his living areas. And while his innermost circles of rooms were more like conventional bedrooms and living spaces, the outer circles were constructed of trees and moss and rock. The lake itself was enclosed within a space of trees and smooth, violet granite. The sky couldn’t be seen overhead, the canopy wove itself too thickly, giving privacy to him when he came here. The lake itself was deep, fringed with waterlilies and lotuses not now in bloom, with natural benches jutting out within the lake itself, and a gently sloping bank on one side, covered in moss and liverwort. It was an inviting space, a private one.

Augus laughed to himself, under his breath. He was staring at the lake once more.

‘I understand. You saw how I’ve reacted with water before, and now...what? You know, this is all extraordinarily tedious. Why don’t you just _tell_ me your game? What do you want?’

Gwyn wanted to have answers for Augus’ questions, but he didn’t. He knew he was doing the wrong thing, he didn’t care. He was tired, and Augus – ironically – was treating him with civility, despite what had passed between them. He might be full of bile and venom for Gwyn, ready with insults, but as far as Gwyn could tell, all of the insults had been accurate.

‘I want you to get in the lake with me,’ Gwyn said, pulling his own shirt off his head with a simple, one-handed movement. He dropped it to the floor, and then undid his pants, sliding them down and stepping out of them. Being naked around others didn’t bother him.

‘Tell me what you want,’ Augus bit out, and Gwyn saw a faint flicker of anger drift across his features, his eyes narrowed.

‘I just told you what I wanted.’

Gwyn knew that Augus was likely playing a long game. That the civility was possibly a front; though Augus had always been civil and courteous, even at his worst. But he would prefer that over whatever was happening in the cliques of his Seelie Court. Gwyn could do this, put Augus back in his cell afterwards and who knows, maybe Augus would be more well-disposed to him in the future.

_Doubtful._

Augus was staring at Gwyn as though he’d grown a second head, and then he stared at the surface of the lake again. His nostrils flared, and Gwyn reached forward and grasped his wrist, dragging him towards it. Augus followed, hypnotised by the water. Gwyn stepped down the bank first, leading him, and he could feel the tension in Augus’ arm, as though he didn’t quite know whether to bolt, or whether to run into the lake.

‘No shifting,’ Gwyn said, and Augus exhaled audibly.

‘I’m not strong enough to shift,’ he said.

‘Do not, at any point, put your head beneath the surface of the water,’ _and disappear down into the depths._ Gwyn’s feet entered the water, and continued down the slope.

‘Why are you doing this?’ Augus said, a note of genuine confusion in his voice.

Gwyn crouched down where the slope fell away, and slid easily into the water. He tugged at Augus, who was standing with his toes just beyond the water itself.

‘Knowing you,’ Augus said, ‘this is just about fucking me. I swear, Gwyn, you and that cock of yours.’

But Augus sounded uncertain, and Gwyn realised that initially that _had_ been the purpose of this, but now...

The water was cool, his back found the wall of the lake itself and he pressed himself to it, tugged on Augus’ wrist again.

Augus hesitated for a few seconds longer, and then came to a decision. He stepped into the water smoothly, with a confidence born of thousands of years of entering and exiting fresh water. His feet didn’t make a sound as he entered, and ripples moved away from him silently. But Augus made a sound, he gasped as the water touched him, and then hissed out a sound of frustration.

‘You’re unusually sensitive for a waterhorse, aren’t you?’ Gwyn said, looking up at him, but Augus was staring at the water with an avid hunger.

Gwyn’s eyes flew open, he braced himself and pulled Augus back, just as Augus attempted to launch himself headfirst into the water. The result was an ungainly splash. Gwyn pulled Augus towards himself. Augus was gasping for breath, struggling against Gwyn, claws came up and scratched at the forearm holding his wrist, rending furrows that bled immediately. His irises were almost black, his pupils blown out.

The struggle was intense, but uncoordinated. Augus was overwhelmed by the water, and Gwyn wrestled him back to the bench, forcing him onto it so that he was still in the lake itself, but his head and shoulders were above the water. Augus had clawed several more furrows into Gwyn’s skin, but it seemed more about trying to follow his waterhorse instincts, than it was about truly doing any damage.

Augus blinked when his back hit the wall, and he stared at Gwyn as though remembering he was there. His breathing was laboured. His arm went lax in Gwyn’s grip, but Gwyn refused to let go. At this point, he wasn’t sure if Augus would simply slide into the deep without the restraint.

_Yes. Doing this while you’re sleep deprived and Augus is desperate for water, excellent idea._ His inner voice was scathing, and sounded a lot like his family. He shoved that away too.

Augus closed his eyes, his lips were tense, his forehead furrowed. He was pressing himself back into the wall of the lake, and if Gwyn didn’t know any better, he’d guess that Augus was loathing the entire experience. But Gwyn did know better, could tell the sensory overload for what it was.

‘Are you done?’ Gwyn said, and Augus shook his head.

‘The instinct to submerge is strong,’ Augus said. ‘I need a minute.’

Augus was shivering.

A minute passed, another, and then suddenly Augus moved rapidly in the water. He straddled Gwyn’s thighs, so that his own knees were resting on the underwater bench, either side of Gwyn. He placed his free hand on Gwyn’s chest, over his heart. He undulated his hips forwards, and he was hard, a hot line of temperature against Gwyn’s abdomen.

‘This is what you wanted, isn’t it?’ Augus said, voice unsteady. Gwyn stared up at him, surprised. Augus slid his hand down and Gwyn realised that he was going to wrap fingers around him. He reached out to stop him, but it was too late. He wasn’t hard, he was still trying to understand his own motives, let alone what Augus was doing. ‘I thought...’

Augus looked confused again, when Gwyn placed a warning hand on Augus’ second wrist, where it wrapped around him.

‘What are you doing?’ Augus said, and his hand squeezed at Gwyn threateningly, painfully.

_‘Stop,’_ Gwyn growled at him, digging his fingers into Augus’ wrist until Augus let go of him.

‘What do you want for this? It can’t just be fucking me. You can have that for _free.’_

Gwyn kept his other hand on Augus’ wrist, a tight grip, as he turned Augus around in the water so that his back was to Gwyn’s chest. He looped his arm around his hips and pulled him down, so that Augus was seated on top of him, head coming up a little past his own. Gwyn splayed his hand over Augus’ belly, stroked at his skin.

‘You don’t want me to die, to waste away in that cell,’ Augus said. ‘A glass of water is one thing, but _this.’_

Augus leaned back, slowly, at Gwyn’s encouragement. Augus rested his weight against him, not as water-light as Gwyn expected, but Gwyn had temporarily forgotten that Augus could change his buoyancy at will. Gwyn kept stroking Augus’ torso.

‘I wondered why you didn’t just kill me. You were well within your rights. It was, _technically,_ a battlefield. You had your sword. I expected to die.’

Gwyn’s eyes widened. He hadn’t thought of it that way. He hadn’t realised that Augus, when he surrendered his Kingship, expected death. It must have been a surprise for him to wake up in the Seelie dungeon, weeks later.

Augus was being surprisingly honest, he sounded disarmed. He wondered if the exposure to so much water at once made it harder for him to keep his guard up. Gwyn trailed a hand up to Augus’ nipple and smoothed fingers across it, and Augus twitched.

‘This is crude, even for you,’ Augus said. ‘You can’t make me dependent on you by doing this, you understand. I am not suddenly going to give over my loyalty to you.’

‘Will you just shut up for once and enjoy the water?’ Gwyn said, and Augus snarled.

‘ _What_ are you doing?’

Gwyn’s hand stopped moving, rested over Augus’ chest, felt his waterhorse-slow heartbeat. It was still faster than normal. Augus was stressed, possibly frightened.

‘Do you think that you can use these crude techniques on me and expect them to _work?’_ Augus said, venom starting to crawl into his voice. His free hand dropped down and raked scratches into the outside of Gwyn’s thigh, and Gwyn exhaled between his teeth. The wounds would heal within the hour, but they were vindictive and deep. ‘Do you think that you can give me something like this and I will come to heel?’

‘Augus,’ Gwyn said, frowning, ‘I’m not entirely sure that leaving a gag on you for three hundred years would bring you to heel. Not for more than a few hours, anyway.’

Augus stilled at that, and then his fingers that were now digging threatening holes into Gwyn’s knee lifted, as though he was satisfied with what he’d heard.

Augus twisted in his lap, tugging hard and rapidly at his wrist until Gwyn let go. Augus turned and straddled him again. Gwyn took a hold of his wrist once more, and noticed with some surprise that even though Augus was obviously stressed, he was still aroused. His hair already looked more lustrous than before, it dripped rapidly as a result of exposure to the water.

Sometimes it struck Gwyn how handsome Augus was, even like this, wasted and with less power than he’d possibly ever had. The Raven Prince had first invited Augus into his Court simply to have his beauty nearby and gaze upon it. And flushed from his exposure to the water, hard beneath the surface, straddling Gwyn like this, it struck him again how beautiful he could be.

‘You wanted to see how I’d react to so much water,’ Augus said, his voice oddly empty of feeling. ‘Don’t leave me hanging. Touch me.’

Augus’ gaze slipped past Gwyn’s when Gwyn wrapped his fingers around Augus’ cock. And when he started moving over him, the friction more noticeable than usual because of the water between them, Augus didn’t seem to care at first. It was only when Gwyn’s thumb caught roughly at the underside of his flesh, that Augus stiffened and then inhaled sharply. He braced himself on Gwyn’s shoulder, dug his fingers into his skin. Blood swirled in the water around them, Gwyn’s thigh was still bleeding freely.

Augus’ reactions to Gwyn were muted. His breathing was mostly forced to evenness, except for a shaky breath here and there, a hitched moment. His head bowed forwards and hair hid his expression, though his fingers gripped tighter as Gwyn continued to move his hand against him.

Minutes passed, and Augus’ hips started to roll in the water, creating slow ripples. Droplets fell from his hair into the surface, splashing lightly. Strands of it had caught against Gwyn’s skin. He tilted his head towards Gwyn, and Gwyn noticed his eyes were closed, lashes a black smudge against his face. His mouth was open slightly, his forehead creased. Gwyn tightened his grip, and Augus’ jaw dropped on a silent gasp, his cock twitched in Gwyn’s palm.

Gwyn resisted the urge to ask if it was okay. Because it was obvious that it was, and because he was aware that the lack of sleep, the insomnia, left him scattered. Questions like ‘is this okay,’ were likely not allowed.  

Seeing Efnisien break that trow’s arm, knowing that he didn’t want to be like his family, it left him aware that he didn’t really want to hurt Augus at all.

He was fae, and they were often a cruel species. Truly malevolent and benevolent fae were far rarer than the ones who simply did what they wanted within certain parameters. Augus was not truly malevolent, and locking him up in a prison for doing what perhaps many fae might try and do in similar circumstances seemed like a human response to a non-human crime. Certainly, he needed to be locked up for the safety of the fae, but it also seemed hypocritical. Gwyn had killed enough fae himself. He knew cruelty well. Perhaps it was only circumstance or unusual good fortune that had kept him out of a prison.

Although the Kingship was enough of a prison, something he couldn’t escape for at least another century and a half.

‘You think you’re clever...’ Augus whispered, his eyes remaining closed, his hips bucking up harder into Gwyn’s hand. ‘But you’re not clever.’

_I don’t feel particularly clever right now, Augus._

If anything, he felt like a new class of stupid.

He still liked Augus. Perhaps...had never stopped liking him. He knew that he’d formed some kind of attachment when he’d asked Augus to break him, when he’d visited Augus’ home that first time. And he knew that attachment had grown during the Wild Hunt, even though it had been a professional relationship between Seelie and Unseelie fae, and it was never more than the excitement of the Hunt, and the chatting and ale afterwards.

The madness inside of him, the cruelty wanted him to break Augus. To turn him into a cowering, silent, ruined wreck. But the rest of him, the parts that didn’t want to be cruel, that wanted to be nothing like his family...

They wanted something different. And they were a lot louder now that Augus was present in his own Seelie Court, now that he was so tired he couldn’t concentrate.

‘Did you think that-’

Augus opened his eyes and then stopped speaking immediately, eyes widening at whatever he saw on Gwyn’s face. His hips faltered in their rhythm, but Gwyn’s hand encouraged him back into those rocking motions once more. Augus stared at him in shock, and Gwyn didn’t know what he was seeing, didn’t know what broadcasted on his face. He didn’t even know what he was feeling anymore.

He’d spent too long without sleep. And before that, too long again. He remembered, vaguely, Augus breathlessly saying that he wasn’t at his best right now.

Neither was Gwyn.

‘What? What is it?’ Gwyn said, and Augus’ lips thinned.

_‘Nothing,’_ he spat, sounding disgusted. Claw tips dug into Gwyn’s shoulder, threatening to draw blood, leaving pinpricks of sensation there.

Gwyn rubbed the edge of his thumb over the head of Augus’ cock with every stroke now, knowing he enjoyed it. Augus started trembling, despite the fact that his breathing was still mostly forced to evenness.

Hardly anything changed when Augus’ trembling suddenly shifted into the repressed spasms of his release. His claws dug a bit deeper, his thighs tensed on either side of Gwyn’s, but otherwise his breathing remained mostly steady, his eyes were closed again. But Gwyn could feel it in his palm, the spasms that made their way through Augus’ cock, even the feel of his release moving through his body.

When he was done, his head sagged forward a little bit more, and then suddenly the hand at Gwyn’s shoulder moved down quickly into the water and wrapped around Gwyn’s cock. Augus set a fast, rapid pace that was intense, almost painful, and Gwyn stiffened.

Augus’ eyes were open. He stared at Gwyn, was staring past him again. Gwyn moved his hand to Augus’ other wrist to stop him, but Augus chose that moment to speed up and Gwyn choked back a noise, his hand fell away, distracted. The water made the friction raw, inescapable. His skin caught on Augus’ palm, and the small flares of pain just added to what was happening.

And he’d been close anyway, didn’t exactly have a wealth of self-control, being so exhausted.

‘Wait,’ Gwyn said, and Augus shook his head, but still didn’t make eye contact. Was still oddly unfocused.

_‘Wait,’_ Gwyn demanded, and managed to close his hand around Augus’ wrist to pull him away. Augus squeezed his cock too tightly, and more pain wove in with the pleasure of it. Gwyn realised that he was going to come.

Flares of light sparked beneath his skin and then detonated underneath his pores. He came with a hoarse gasp, his body arching upwards, his neck stretching taut. He had both of his hands around Augus’ wrists, but Augus stroked him through it, ignoring Gwyn’s grip and continuing to move his hand.

‘I don’t know why you require this of me,’ Augus muttered under his breath. ‘When you have the shadows to do as you please.’

Gwyn’s brow creased together at the words, and then his eyes flew open.

_No._

He snapped upright, concerned, just as Augus let go of him.

Augus was staring at him now, his face devoid of expression.

‘There,’ Augus said.

‘Augus,’ Gwyn said, and Augus smiled at him. A pretty, beguiling expression.

In one smooth movement he yanked his hand out of Gwyn’s wrist and then thrust it towards his abdomen. Gwyn expected a punch, expected a blow, did not expect claws to slice through his skin and then choked.

Augus’ fingers were inside him up to the last knuckle, buried amongst his organs.

A whirl of pain, which quickly expanded throughout his gut up into his lungs, through his limbs. He gasped, wretched, and stared at Augus in shock.

_You should have expected this._

He choked again when Augus shifted his fingers, menacing, and looked down between them, at the place where blood was blossoming from the wound. Gwyn was King, he wouldn’t die from it. But it was damaging. It would take time to heal.

‘If you keep making me stronger, Gwyn, there’s going to be consequences. If you’re going to torture me, _torture_ me. I tire of waiting for you to choose between cruelty or kindness.’

Gwyn was still stunned, couldn’t think of anything to say. Augus’ fingers shifted inside of him and Gwyn cried out, and then reached down quickly, pulled Augus’ fingers free. Augus didn’t resist him at all, a smirk played on the edges of his mouth. Blood bloomed up thick and hot in the water.

Gwyn teleported them out immediately, didn’t even stop for his clothing. He dropped Augus, wet and a wild gaze in his eyes, back in his cell and teleported out again.

He ended up back in one of his many rooms, dripping blood rapidly onto floorboards. The pain was worse now that he’d teleported twice, and he sank to his knees, clutching his hand over the wound. Four stab wounds in his gut, from Augus’ _fingers._ The strength it must have taken to do that.

He felt, of all things, betrayed.

Gwyn started to laugh.

Augus owed him nothing. He had no right to feel betrayed. Not after what they’d both done. And yet – as he continued to laugh, each motion causing pain to rock through him – he realised, with a scathing self-hatred, that he felt _betrayed._

A wave of despair followed his laughter, rocked into him with a force that dwarfed even the pain in his abdomen. Gwyn’s head sunk down to the floorboards. He dripped water and blood, even his thigh was still bleeding. He felt used up, spent.

A deep, lurking grittiness reared its head and crept closer, licking at his thoughts, asking for a way into his mind. And Gwyn opened himself to it, falling over onto his side and drawing his knees up to his chest.

He thought, with a burst of derisive laughter, that he might even be able to sleep now.

He felt like he was falling. His own Court was polluted by his family. Augus was untrustworthy and he’d _known_ that. Cruelty beckoned him closer. A madness that had been waiting for months, wrapped careful, cautious tendrils around his thoughts and twisted them to the dark.

He could hurt Augus.

He could hurt Augus a _lot._

Augus had no idea what he was really capable of.

If Augus wanted Gwyn to choose, Gwyn could choose. Gwyn had a lifetime of knowing what he was supposed to choose. What his family _wanted_ him to choose.

He moaned softly, despair and pain twisting up his voice. He didn’t want it. He didn’t want anything to do with it. But what was the point in fighting it? Without it, he became too trusting. No one would expect it of him, but it was the truth. Outside of strategy, outside of the battlefield, he was still so naive. Without the cruelty, he couldn’t play the game of captor.

Perhaps, then, cruelty was the only thing that would keep him afloat in all of this. The family curse had kept his relatives alive for a long, long time, after all.

Gwyn’s eyes fluttered shut, and a sickening darkness cast a cape over his mind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, 'Exchanges:'
> 
> ‘Ah, it does hurt you,’ Gwyn said, smoothing away the tears that were leaking from Augus’ eyes. ‘You have no idea how sweet you look, my cock down your throat, your face so eloquent. You spend all your time pretending things don’t affect you, but get you down on your knees and doing what you were made to do, and suddenly your face is an open book.’


	7. Exchanges

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember to read the tags - these boys aren't playing in a consensual world folks. New tags for this chapter: blow job / nonconsensual blow job. 
> 
> THANK YOU for all your feedback so far, it is so very appreciated. I make the most ridiculous sounds when I see that people have kudos'ed or commented, you have no idea.

Gwyn placed an ornate, copper plate of fresh marsh marigold on the ground, noting the way Augus stared at it avidly. Augus didn’t need food like he needed the water, but he knew that Augus hadn’t consumed anything like food – especially something like marsh marigold – for months. His core food may have been human flesh, but the vegetation was appealing regardless.

He had looked for it himself, needing an excuse to get away from the Seelie Court. Efnisien had been far more present in the Court as promised, and his cruel and knowing glances were wearing. Even embracing a greater sense of darkness, Efnisien was still an unwanted annoyance in his life. An excuse to leave and go foraging, knowing what Gwyn would be demanding in exchange for it, was very welcome.  

He undressed calmly, while Augus stared at it. After a while, Augus tore his eyes away long enough to direct his green gaze up at Gwyn. Just as quickly, he looked back at the marsh marigold again. He swallowed hungrily.  

Eventually, Gwyn stood, unashamed of his nudity. Augus folded his hands together.

‘I suppose I’m not getting this for free,’ he said, drily.

‘I want you to suck me. I want you on your knees, in the dirt, and I want you to worship my cock. And I want you to make it _good.’_

Augus stared at him. His hands fell apart where they had been resting neatly, his feet shifted where he stood. Gwyn almost fell upon him when Augus’ mouth dropped open. That wouldn’t do. He had a plan. He wanted to stick to the plan. He didn’t understand how he could be so good at strategising when it came to foreign politics, and yet every careful thought he had about what he could do to Augus scattered as soon as he saw him.

‘I’ve been thinking about what a pretty picture it would make,’ Gwyn said quietly. ‘You, deposed King of the Dark Fae. Me, victorious King of the Light. There are people who would pay through the nose to see this. So I think I’m letting you off lightly. No one’s going to watch. But if you want the marsh marigold, you’ll do it willingly. If you don’t, I can just force you.’

Augus looked down at the marsh marigold, long and considering. 

‘You’ve made your decision then have you? Cruelty appeared better than kindness?’

‘I think I am being _quite_ kind,’ Gwyn said, and Augus narrowed his eyes.

A minute passed, and Augus stepped forwards gracefully. He walked into Gwyn’s personal space, looked up into Gwyn’s eyes, managing a surprising amount of venom in that gaze. And then he took a deep breath and sank down, legs folding neatly underneath him.

Gwyn licked his lips, looked down. He kept his hands at his sides, wondering where Augus would start.

‘Do you ever worry I’ll bite it off?’ Augus said idly, caressing Gwyn’s length with the back of his fingers. Gwyn grinned, his eyes remained closed.

‘I will murder your brother, and I will make you _watch.’_

Augus’ hand jerked back. Gwyn was surprised at the horrified expression on his face; after all, if Augus was going to bait him, Gwyn was going to respond.

‘What’s wrong?’ Augus asked, and Gwyn raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

‘What’s wrong is that your mouth isn’t around my cock yet.’

‘No,’ Augus breathed. ‘That’s not it.’

Gwyn’s expression hardened, he glared until Augus reluctantly leaned forwards, directing a look that could almost be called worried up at Gwyn, before lowering his mouth to the tip of Gwyn’s cock. The exhales alone were a turn on, each one even and careful, as though Augus had to focus hard on keeping his breathing under control. Augus’ hands returned to Gwyn’s thighs, and Gwyn resisted the urge to reach up and touch one of them, to stroke Augus’ forearm.

This wasn’t about that. It couldn’t ever be about that.

The last time, Augus had attacked him with a level of strength and malice that had been surprising, if only because they had maintained a dark sort of civility between them since Augus’ imprisonment. It didn’t matter that he was King and possessed the full spectrum of a King’s healing powers, Augus had thrust his fingers into Gwyn’s abdomen with the intention of gutting him, and curled upwards, puncturing organs and leaving Gwyn disoriented and off kilter. It had taken a surprising amount of time to heal fully from the wounds. There had likely been internal bleeding to deal with.

Whatever this was, it couldn’t ever be about anything more than the bare basics of civility, alongside the taking, the cruelty. There was nothing more. If Augus enquired what was wrong, it was because he was trying to gain ground. If Augus showed concern, it was a play at making Gwyn vulnerable once more. An underfae killing a King was simply unheard of, but Augus was stronger than the average underfae, and Gwyn couldn’t use the full extent of his offensive powers to defend himself because his light was too dangerous.

Augus wrapped a lukewarm palm around the base of him, holding him steady. It was a surprisingly light grip, almost careful. Gwyn blinked, slowly, as Augus opened his mouth and licked out with his tongue, curling around the head of him attentively. Augus kept licking, longer and longer strokes, as though familiarising himself, or easing himself in. His eyes were closed, and Gwyn wondered if he was imagining someone else.

Augus sucked at the tip of him, enveloped him in the wet warmth of his mouth, sucked with delicate precision. He was someone who knew that getting someone off was made of components, applying each step with the same exactitude he applied to his swordsmanship.

It would never do.

Gwyn grasped Augus’ wrist and pulled away the hand that was wrapped around him. And with his hand fisting in the back of Augus’ wet hair – something he would never get tired of – he pulled Augus forward until he hit the back of Augus’ throat.

Augus made a sound of shock, tried to jerk his head back. His other hand came up and pushed hard at Gwyn’s hip, and Gwyn removed the hand from Augus’ hair and grabbed that wrist too. He transferred both wrists to one hand, thrusting forward threateningly when Augus arched backwards to try and free his mouth. He had a rope around Augus’ wrists quickly, deciding that recent experience with Augus was giving him a lot of practice at how to subdue someone. He never entered the cell without at least one length of thin, supernaturally strong rope inside of his pocket.

With his hands free again, he placed them both on Augus’ head and dragged him forwards, hitting the back of his throat again. He smiled when Augus stared at up at him, shocked. 

‘I’m going _all_ the way in. And if you get a sore throat because of it, then maybe it will shut you up for a few days.’

Augus made sound of protest that hummed around Gwyn’s cock, and Gwyn sighed at the vibration of it.

Gwyn pushed harder, meeting resistance and groaning roughly when Augus’ teeth accidentally scraped against his shaft. He knew it was an accident, because Augus’ eyes widened in alarm, and his mouth opened wider. He tensed as though he expected reprimand. But Gwyn could tell Augus was unpractised at this, and after a single, threatening glare, decided to let it slide. He pushed harder, until Augus’ throat opened around the head of him.

Augus choked around him as Gwyn changed the angle. _There._ Like this, he could bottom out if he wanted to. But he didn’t. He held himself still for a while, staring down at Augus, making sure Augus _knew_ that Gwyn could thrust forward at any point. He waited until saliva was bubbling up around the corners of Augus’ mouth, until his face had flushed dark, until his shoulders were shifting and straining as he fought to free himself from the rope.

Gwyn backed off, letting Augus catch his breath.

‘You told me to suck you,’ Augus protested, ‘not to simply open up and let my mouth be fucked by a boar disguised as fae.’

‘I have never been that good with my words, in all honesty,’ Gwyn said. ‘Have you caught your breath? You’re not used to this are you? You’ve fucked practically all the fae, and yet there’s still things you haven’t done. I am looking forward to this.’

The crudities came easily when Gwyn was in this frame of mind. A far cry from his usual shyness around using such language. He raised Augus’ head up, forced his mouth open with his fingers. Augus rebelled in small ways, pressing his lips together, squeezing his eyes shut, straining away. Not enough to get the marsh marigold removed, not enough to get his brother threatened again, but enough to indicate that he wasn’t a fan of Gwyn’s idea.

Gwyn pushed back in, moved slowly but firmly, inexorably. When he reached the closed space of Augus' throat, he reached forwards and started massaging Augus’ throat.   

‘Swallow,’ Gwyn said. Augus groaned a protest, and Gwyn responded by rocking deep against the narrow space at the back of his mouth. ‘Do it, Augus.’

Augus held out for as long as he could, but the fingers at his throat and the saliva building up in his mouth combined until he couldn’t help it, and his throat opened on a swallow. Gwyn pushed himself deeper, tilting Augus’ head, looking up at the tree roots above him as he worked himself deeper and deeper, until his balls were pressed against Augus’ chin. The tightness was incredible. Augus’ throat was working against him, over and over again, helplessly trying to force Gwyn from his throat.

_This is very good._

‘Ah, it does hurt you,’ Gwyn said, smoothing away the tears that were leaking from Augus’ eyes. ‘You have no idea how sweet you look, my cock down your throat, your face so eloquent. You spend all your time pretending things don’t affect you, but get you down on your knees and doing what you were made to do, and suddenly your face is an open book.’

Augus’ face twisted in anguish, his eyes screwed shut as Gwyn started rocking back and forth. Gwyn wanted to fuck, mindlessly, but some small part of his mind reminded him that he would hurt Augus a _lot_ if he did that. Augus’ throat wouldn’t relax fully, and Gwyn couldn’t afford to lose his mind. He wanted Augus to do this again, and again, and decided it was simply enough to be buried deep. He could do rough – or at least, rougher – later.

He withdrew for a few seconds to let Augus gasp in a deep, rattling breath, before pushing back in. Augus sobbed around him, his throat spasmed.

‘You don’t like this, do you?’ Gwyn said with a calm he didn’t feel. ‘Degradation. Knowing you’re so desperate for food, and water, and likely _company_ , that you’ll put up these mock protests without truly fighting me. I like this side of you a lot. Be careful, Augus. You’ll make me want to do this to you every day. You can play the game better than that.’

Augus couldn’t even shake his head, mouth stretched too wide, but his face tensed like he wanted to.

‘ _Ah,_ your throat is tight,’ Gwyn said, thrusting harder accidentally. Augus’ shout was a sharp hum around him, and he opened his eyes to see Augus staring at him, wide-eyed, pleading. There was an unusual amount of desperation there, and the tears hadn’t stopped. Gwyn thumbed them again, exhaling roughly.

Gwyn realised what an idiot he was, slowed, paused.

‘Is it better or worse to be gagged with a cock, instead of a scarf?’

That sob again, this time with a weight of despair around it. There was a look to Augus’ face that said that he hadn’t wanted Gwyn to realise. His nostrils flared as he searched for breath, his cheeks had flushed darker, his eyes were still leaking tears. Gwyn allowed himself to acknowledge that Augus was beautiful like this.

Gwyn stayed in position until Augus was trembling with his need for oxygen, and only then did he ease back. Augus gasped away and heaved in breath after breath.

‘Please,’ Augus rasped, throat already bruised, ‘just...’

‘That’s enough, you’ve caught your breath,’ Gwyn said, harsh, and Augus shook his head and looked like he wanted to crawl backwards and simply disappear into the darkness. ‘You want me to let up? No. I’m coming down the back of your throat, and I’m going to watch every expression on that face of yours while I do it.’

‘I don’t like this,’ Augus said, the words simple, sending a hot bolt through his body that made Gwyn’s cock twitch.

‘I must have spent too much time around you, Augus, if you think this is going to appeal to my sense of mercy. Come on, we might as well get this over and done with. And try not to think too much about how I’m going to be doing it again.’

Gwyn saw Augus’ muscles bunch to retreat, and before he even had a chance to move away, Gwyn’s hands struck out and grabbed him by the head, forced him up and forwards. Augus may have gained some strength after receiving water and care, but he was no match for Gwyn. Fingers digging hard into his jaw forced his mouth open, and Gwyn pushed in roughly. When Augus cried out in protest, Gwyn took advantage of his open throat and bottomed out, rocking his cock back and forth.

He stayed deep, not bothering to engage in the level of mouth fucking that he usually did. Not when Augus was already so panicked. Besides, it was already rewarding. He wanted Augus to feel him where no one else had ever been, he doubted Augus had _ever_ done this before, not with his centre being what it was. And he knew he wasn’t going to last long. He couldn’t. Not with Augus’s shoulders twisting the way they did, not with those repeated, broken noises sounding in his throat and humming along his cock.  

He briefly considered that maybe he should feel bad, but he didn’t. It wasn’t about justifications anymore. The darkness had crept inside his mind, cruelty spread fingers outwards and grasped at what it wanted. It didn’t matter what justifications he used, it didn’t matter whether it was his right as King, or whether Augus had done worse; none of the reasons trumped the fact that Gwyn just liked to see Augus like this, made to submit, throat working to alternatively expel or try and accept his length, saliva dripping down one side of his mouth. He didn’t feel bad. He just felt like he was going to come.

‘You are going to swallow everything. A shame that you’re probably not even going to _taste_ it,’ Gwyn said, harshly, and Augus’ tongue worked under his cock, not to arouse, but to shape words, protests, the word _no._

‘Fuck,’ Gwyn breathed, his mind finding his way to crassness easily. ‘I should have done this to you a long time ago. You are perfect for this. How did you get away with being dominating for so long, when you had this in you? I will never understand it, Augus. You were made for taking cock.’

Augus keened against him, a long, pained denial that vibrated all the way through Gwyn and made him snarl with a brittle, exploding pleasure. He pushed as deep as he could and groaned as he started to come, hips convulsing in short, sharp movements. Augus was sobbing and swallowing against him, and it extended his orgasm. It was one of the longest he’d had in a while.

He withdrew once he was done and immediately forced Augus’ mouth open with his fingers, looked down his throat.

‘Would you look at that, I can barely see a single drop. You swallowed _everything,_ Augus. Well done. Though I have to say, your throat looks a bit sore.’

Augus snapped his teeth down hard and Gwyn withdrew his fingers quickly, laughing. He leaned over and untied the rope as quickly as he could, and then stepped away as Augus dropped to his forearms, gasping for breath and quaking, coughing intermittently. Gwyn felt the satisfaction that came with knowing he’d used Augus well.

‘I don’t...want to do that again,’ Augus managed, ‘What, surely, there is something I can exchange...’

‘That I can’t simply take from you?’ Gwyn said, bringing the plate of marsh marigold over and grinning when Augus eyed it like a plate of poison. ‘What do you have? I know you likely have an estate since your time in the Court, or some land somewhere, but I don’t need that. I know you have cheated your way to fortune and treasure, but I don’t need that. I know you have your body, and the other disgusting, filthy acts that I could do to it that I haven’t even thought of, but I already _have_ that. The only reason I’d consider not fucking that pretty mouth of yours again is if I felt _sorry_ for you, but if you think I give a damn about that while I’m opening your throat up, then you-’

‘Then let,’ Augus made a sound of self-disgust, ‘then let me...no, _fuck.’_

Every time Augus couldn’t complete a sentence, every time he devolved into swearing, it meant that he was close to breakdown. This was something Gwyn had learned. He knelt in front of Augus and tried to catch of glimpse of his expression, but Augus wasn’t letting him.

‘Say it, Augus,’ Gwyn said, and Augus shuddered.

‘Then let me, let me _learn_ how to do it, and...slower.’

Gwyn felt a curl of satisfaction move through him. The rough handling had probably been too rough today, if Augus was willing to offer up the same activity, just at a slower pace.

‘Are you honestly asking me to give up something I very much enjoy, for your benefit?’

‘You’ll still enjoy it!’ Augus shouted, though his voice broke. ‘You will still enjoy it!’

‘You take liberties, Augus,’ Gwyn said, pushing Augus down to the ground and turning him onto his back, straddling him, holding his head still. ‘I took it _easy_ today.’

Augus’ eyes flew open in denial. For all that Augus was extremely good at domination, he was not used to Gwyn’s callousness. He thought he understood how rough Gwyn could be, but he had no real idea. Gwyn’s roughness was alien to Augus, it was obvious he hadn’t even considered that Gwyn hadn’t just gone after his pleasure as crassly as he usually would.

‘You lie,’ Augus said. ‘You’re just trying to get me to agree to _that_ again, threatening me with- Even I know that you-’

‘I didn’t want to _rock,_ calmly, making it easier for you. I wanted to thrust so hard that you lost your voice, that you started to black out. I wanted to force your throat open _every_ time, not wait for you to swallow. Do you want to know all the concessions I allowed you? You tell me you want me to _scale it down?_ Are you truly so delicate?’

Augus looked at Gwyn like he hadn’t seen him before. Gwyn didn’t care, wanting to make sure he got his point across.

‘I can still come if you’re unconscious. I can still come if your throat’s bleeding. Rough by your standards doesn’t actually mean _anything_. I have _willing_ lovers who can take it rougher than you can.’

Augus didn’t reply, rendered speechless. Impossibly, Gwyn felt himself twitch again at the sight of Augus – face still flushed, eyes still bright, _helpless._

‘Is that true with...everything?’ Augus said finally, forehead creasing. ‘Have you been holding back?’

Gwyn cast his mind back. Had he? He laughed, of course he had. He was rough, he had his mindless moments, but if he fucked Augus the way he wanted to...

‘I think when it comes to matters of war and battle, you should abandon that sword as your primary weapon and just fuck people the way you _want_ to,’ Augus spat, a flicker of anger and outrage moving over his face.

‘The way I want to.’ Gwyn said, grinning. ‘Do you want to hear about it? I would _hurt_ you, Augus. There is nothing better than reducing someone to their animal instincts. I want to use less lubricant, I want the lurch when someone realises that I’m not stopping and they had no idea what they’ve gotten themselves in for. I want the claws when a lover who’s had me before realises they’ve forgotten just how brutal I can be. I want you to think I’m pounding into you as hard as I could be, and then to scream when you realise that I like to escalate, that there is always _harder._ I would take my lovers dry, if I wasn’t worried about ripping the skin off my own cock.’

Deep within, a voice shrieking at him that it simply wasn’t true, not _completely,_ and that this was dangerous, it was dangerous to let himself fall into these older, crueller instincts. He pushed the voice aside, stomped it down.

Augus was breathing shallowly, his face still deeply flushed. There was a rabbit-thump of fear in his heart, but Gwyn’s eyelids lowered when he sensed something else too. He reached behind him and palmed Augus’ cock in his fingers. He may have hated having his mouth fucked, but he was aroused now.

‘This just tells me that you want to try it,’ Gwyn said, hardening again. Augus made him feel like he wanted to quit his Kingdom and spend all his time down in the cells, finding new ways to make Augus feel him.

‘How often, how often do you really get to just...let loose, the way you want to?’ Augus said, and Gwyn tilted his head back and thought about it. A moment later he twisted his torso and started moving his hand up and down Augus’ cock, pleased when the strangled sound that Augus made was raspier because of his abused throat.

‘Not as often as I’d like.’

‘I can imagine,’ Augus gasped as Gwyn started rubbing his thumb over the head of Augus’ cock, making sure he caught the sensitive underside with his calluses, over and over again. Augus moaned, a thin sound of despair. A second later, his hips thrust up into Gwyn’s hand, seeking.

‘What if I offered you that, instead?’ Augus said. ‘What if I said I would bend over for you, on all fours, like a _dog,_ and let you...do what you want to do.’

Gwyn laughed indulgently. After all this time, Augus still didn’t get it. He may have been less burdened by the Kingship he’d once had, but he still behaved like royalty, like an aristocrat.

‘You don’t understand, do you? I can fuck you the way I want, whenever I want. I can fuck your throat, whenever I want. I could declare myself on sabbatical and spend a week down here, and keep my cock in some part of your body so often that you’d begin to forget a time when you were ever not filled with it. There is no bargaining in this.’

‘No,’ Augus rasped. ‘But, I know you. A little. You could force me down to the ground and fuck me almost dry, or I could tell you that I wanted it, lower myself down gracefully, look over my shoulder with eyes wide, a mix of apprehension and...still invite you. _Ask_ for it. I know you want that invitation. You wouldn’t still be holding yourself back with something like _me_ if you didn’t worry, somewhere deep down, that it was _wrong._ ’

Gwyn breathed out slowly through his nose. The image was too vivid. Augus looking over his shoulder, ass arched invitingly into the air, pupils blown with fear and arousal, maybe even quivering at the strength it would take to force himself into that position, rather than being forced into it. That moment, that inevitable moment of sudden regret when Augus would try and escape impalement, and it would be too late. His mouth opened on a groan.

‘See, you like it,’ Augus gasped, hips moving regularly now, eyes closed and seeking out his own pleasure in the constraint of Gwyn’s hand. ‘You like it. And I... if you let me just... _please,_ take my time, with swallowing you. _Fuck._ Then, I would do that.’

Gwyn jumped when he felt a palm between his legs, touching him. Augus had rarely been so bold, and it was strange to see his eloquent fingers wrap voluntarily around his cock, which was still sticky from saliva and come. It was disconcerting, knowing that the last time Augus’ fingers were that close to his torso, he’d plunged fingers through his skin and into his gut.

‘I will hurt you, more than I have,’ Gwyn said, warningly.

‘I blooded you, the first time I took you,’ Augus said, voice breaking, moving his hand slowly around Gwyn, in counterpoint to the rough strokes that Gwyn was giving in return. Every time Gwyn scraped fingernails over Augus’ head, he jerked hard, sensitised and pained . ‘Remember? You _squealed._ You. That was a _good_ day for me. Haven’t you always wanted to get me back for that? I’m not some human. You could hurt me more. I could take it.’

‘You won’t like it,’ Gwyn groaned.

‘I’m assuming that’s the _point,’_ Augus snarled, and then cried out in pain when Gwyn pressed a fingernail into his slit, pushing down. ‘You- You- There is _nothing_ articulate about your hand on me. You just... _take.’_

Gwyn’s hips thrust. Augus was working him over expertly, and Gwyn, in contrast, was simply trying to yank a reaction from Augus as roughly as he could. Augus made sounds caught between pleasure and pain, hips thrusting up and alternatively jerking away. The hand around Gwyn flexed sometimes, as though he was losing his concentration. Gwyn found himself getting harder.

‘I did bleed, the first time you took me,’ Gwyn said, ‘I didn’t like it.’

‘Join the club of people who like to do to others, but do not like to have done to them,’ Augus cried out, his hips beginning to jerk. Gwyn jacked him off harder, and then, on a whim, because he felt like he was having a good afternoon and he could afford to be generous, he suddenly gentled his grip, smoothed his thumb over the head of Augus tenderly, slicking precome over the sensitive skin.

Augus shouted as he came, his back arched and his hand dropped away from Gwyn’s cock. He heaved in breath after breath, drawing air in raggedly. His back would have come off the floor completely if it hadn’t been for Gwyn’s weight pinning him down just above his hips. Gwyn was shocked at the strength of his reaction, and kept moving his hand gently, drawing out Augus’ pleasure, swallowing down every one of his helpless, inarticulate noises.

‘There,’ Gwyn said, taking himself in hand and jerking himself off quickly. ‘You are pretty, aren’t you? What a mess of contradictions you are. You got hard when I talked about using myself up in you. You’ve behaved like the hounds of hell were after you, when I treated you with gentleness in the past. Augus, do you even know what you like?’

He went after his orgasm while Augus continued to come down from his own, gasping and shuddering like he’d run a marathon. It was that open mouth, imagining fucking it again, knowing what Augus was willing to exchange in order to avoid it, that had him coming hard a second time, ejaculate striping Augus’ chest and neck.

He bowed forwards, placing his palms down on either side of Augus’ shoulders, feeling like he was having a _very_ good afternoon.

‘I don’t understand you,’ he said finally. ‘You don’t like being gagged, but it’s not as though you’re unable to communicate. I knew you didn’t like what was happening. Your face is _very_ expressive.’

Augus shook his head.

‘People don’t have to listen, when there are no words,’ his voice was naked, exposed.

‘People don’t have to listen even when there are.’

‘You don’t understand, because you’re an idiot. So dense I don’t know how you run a kingdom. Words are the only currency I have that matter. Think, moron. I just bartered to have more control over something I loathe. And even if you resent that I did that, you _want_ my willingness to be fucked almost dry so much that you still accepted the bargain. Even without compulsion, words are agency.’

 _Agency._ Interesting word.

‘How quickly do you lose your sense of self, when words are taken away?’

Augus hissed and twisted his body, pushing at Gwyn to move him off, but Gwyn refused to move. He rubbed his come into Augus’ chest slowly, forcing him to accept that Gwyn wasn’t going anywhere. He felt disgustingly territorial, he was glad some of the other members of his Court weren’t here to see him like this.

‘Quickly,’ Augus finally said, ‘if you must know. Almost immediately. And if you want me conscious and aware enough to offer my ass up to you on a silver platter, you should know that I can’t do that when I’m _catatonic.’_

‘Catatonic?’ Gwyn said, laughing at the melodrama. The laughter died in his throat when he saw that Augus was staring at him, completely serious.

‘You wouldn’t know that you became catatonic unless it had been done to you before,’ Gwyn said, and Augus’ eyes widened.

With an almighty wrench of his body, Augus unseated Gwyn and pushed himself out of the way. He stood quickly. He glared. His lips were thinned.

It wasn’t the first time Gwyn had wondered about Augus’ past, his experiences. He dressed himself slowly, aware of Augus’ green gaze on every movement that he made. When he was smoothing down his tunic, Augus cleared his throat.

‘Are you going to force me to eat the marsh marigold in front of you?’ Augus said, changing the subject. He winced as his finished the sentence, the pain in his throat, no doubt.

Gwyn wanted to. He wanted to watch. He wanted to see Augus carefully chew and swallow every piece, knowing it would pain him. Knowing that he wouldn’t be able to eat it without a constant reminder of what Gwyn had taken from him.

‘No,’ Gwyn said, and Augus frowned, sceptical. ‘I think I’m going to pay Pitch a visit.’

Augus blanched, as he did whenever Pitch was mentioned, or his brother.

‘I think,’ Gwyn continued, ‘I’m going to ask him about your experiences with the Nightmare King, since you won’t tell me.’

Augus leapt forwards and Gwyn stepped backwards quickly, moving through the invisible barrier of the cell and watching as Augus slammed up against it.

‘You will not,’ Augus said, his voice breaking despite the force behind the words. ‘You _won’t._ You can’t, Gwyn!’

Gwyn turned and started walking away.

‘ _Gwyn!’_ Augus shouted. ‘Don’t be stupid! Use it, at least! Use it as some kind of bargaining chip! Think...think what you could get from me!’

Gwyn paused and turned back, looked over his shoulder. Augus was leaning hard against the cell barrier, fingers clawed against it.

‘I am using it, Augus. That’s what I’m doing right now. And I think, from your reaction, that I could get a great deal as a result of doing this. Besides, some things are more important than what I can get from you, Augus,’ he said.

Augus sagged against the invisible barrier, his forehead pushing against it.

‘ _Don’t,’_ Augus said, somewhere between compulsion and pleading.

It was the last thing he seemed to have the energy to say. Gwyn was left with the horribly uncomfortable sensation of wanting to go back and reassure him, which he would _not_ do. He’d made a choice. He firmed his thoughts away from the remnant parts of himself that tugged at him, that asked for him to return to sanity and logic and _don’t do this._ He couldn’t afford to be himself. He would rely on the cruelty his family bred into him and attempted to nurture. He wasn’t as adept as his cousin, his mother, but he could learn. There was still time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, 'Wait:' 
> 
> ‘Perhaps I’m not the only King who will go mad in my lifetime. You’ve already done it once, before you were King. Why not again? I’m curious though, who will you go to this time? Who will pick up the pieces? It obviously can’t be me.’


	8. Wait

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No new tags for this chapter; but the warnings are definitely in full effect! 
> 
> We're going to start stepping into some major plot twists and character development soon, so that by chapter 11, people will look back on this point and think 'oh my goodness, how did we get from there to _here?_ ' 
> 
> Thank you as always to everyone who is reading, extra special thanks to those who are kudosing and commenting. You folks are beyond awesome.

Gwyn walked down to the cells, anger a deep, thick morass inside of him.

Pitch hadn’t been there when he had gone to pay him a call. But Jack had been there. Usually it was the other way around, Pitch was always there – so much more of a homebody than Jack – and Jack was out making snow days or doing whatever it was that unruly frost spirits did. But this time Jack had been quietly keeping himself occupied in their house in Kostroma, while Pitch was off on some sort of jaunt with Toothiana. Perhaps they sparred together, she was good with weapons. At least, when she allowed herself to be.

But seeing Jack quietly miss Pitch and not doing a good job of hiding his anxiety, brought back another time when Jack had been absent Pitch, and not doing so well. Gwyn remembered the vicious bite marks on Jack’s side, how close they’d come to Augus finding out all of their plans and utterly destroying Jack’s spirit...

Jack was fine now, relatively fine. Pitch had once told Gwyn that Jack carried a certain brokenness around with him anyway, due to three hundred years of not being seen by anyone. Gwyn hadn’t said anything, but a silent envy had grown inside of him. Everyone talked about loneliness as though it was the worst experience – and perhaps it was – but all Gwyn knew of company was that it was draining, abrasive, awful. His favourite daydream when he was a child was to imagine himself finding an otherworld island, making a small shack, and then living there on his own, hunting his own food and making his own weapons, until such time as he ever decided to go back to the mainland.

In that fantasy, he never wanted to go back.

But despite Jack being relatively fine now, there was a time when he’d been anything but. When Gwyn had to be unduly harsh on the boy to make sure that he focused, when he had gone back to his Court castigating himself for harsh words, harsh deeds, knowing – all the while – that the person who truly deserved the harsh words and deeds also deserved punishment, retribution, a cell at the very least.

And now Augus had one.

Augus was awake and waiting when Gwyn stepped through the barrier of the cell. He’d looked relaxed as Gwyn had approached, but now – seeing Gwyn up close – he stiffened imperceptibly. Gwyn repressed the urge to smile at him. He wanted Augus on his guard. He wanted him to hurt. Here was a creature who played politics as naturally as Gwyn breathed. The sympathy card to appeal to Gwyn’s habit of taking in injured wild animals. His almost repressed signs of arousal, to make Gwyn feel like they were somehow bonding or exchanging something important with each other. Odd moments of almost empathy, to make Gwyn feel like Augus understood what he was going through.

Augus understood nothing.

‘I hope you understand how generous I’m being,’ Gwyn said, as he unlaced his breeches, ‘when I say that you can do this at your own pace.’

Augus frowned.

‘Bad day, dear?’

‘Tell me why you didn’t complete the act of raping Jack Frost,’ Gwyn said, and felt a dark coil of satisfaction when Augus’ eyes widened. Soon after, his expression smoothed to a careful blankness, one that Gwyn was certain would last all of five minutes, until he was stuffing Augus’ mouth full and grinning down at him.

‘He runs _very_ cold,’ Augus said, arching an eyebrow. ‘So you visited Pitch after all?’

‘Pitch wasn’t home.’

‘Ah,’ Augus said, stepping sideways when Gwyn sat down on the tree root that Augus had been occupying. It was still warm where he’d been sitting. Gwyn indicated that Augus should kneel in front of him, not caring that the ground would hurt his knees, wanting to simply grab Augus’ head and force him to swallow Gwyn down...but no, this was about something else. This was about an _exchange_.

‘I always knew you were oddly affectionate towards him. I don’t understand _why,_ of course.’

‘He’s pure-hearted, of course you don’t understand why,’ Gwyn said.

Augus’ mouth thinned.

'Kneel,’ Gwyn commanded. ‘And remember what I get in exchange for allowing this.’

A dark smile crept over Augus’ face.

‘Oh, so that’s to be today is it? Felt sorry for Jack Frost, so now you’re going to make me bleed?’

‘Don’t act like you’ve never done the same to someone else,’ Gwyn snarled, and Augus stepped forwards before kneeling uneasily, placing both of his hands on Gwyn’s knees to brace himself.

‘Perhaps you see his young, nubile form and daydream about doing the same to him?’ Augus said, and then smiled when Gwyn didn’t reply. ‘Jealous? You know how sweetly the pure-hearted break.’

Gwyn struck out and grabbed Augus’ hair, tightening his wrist until Augus’ upper body twisted to stop hair from pulling out. Of course Gwyn had thought about Jack, but to compare Gwyn’s fantasies with what Augus had _done._

‘Can you do this without forcing me?’ Augus said darkly. ‘Because if you can’t, you don’t get me on my knees, voluntarily, asking you to please fuck me with minimal lubricant because you are a trashy, overbred monster.’

‘Going to get through it by daydreaming about what you’ll do to me if you ever get free?’ Gwyn said on a half-smile and Augus’ eyes narrowed.

‘How could you guess? That has gotten me through many a long day.’

‘This is what gets me through my long days,’ Gwyn said, indicating his half-hard cock, ‘Shame you lost the game. Now get to it.’

Gwyn let go of the grip on his hair, knowing that Augus was right. He could fuck Augus forcefully as much as he wanted, but the exchange was that Augus would display himself for it, that Augus would _ask,_ however much he regretted it afterwards. And Gwyn would make sure he did regret it. The darker part of him, growing in size and strength, day after unending day, wanted Augus on the floor, pained and pleading, broken into pieces. He could feel the darkness looming larger as the days passed, as he simply allowed it to be present in his mind. Ever since Augus had attacked him, Gwyn had realised that Augus could not ever be trusted, could never be anything more than _this._

Augus touched his fingers to Gwyn’s cock, and Gwyn closed his eyes at the flush of sensation, pushed his hips forwards. He wasn’t worried about being bitten. Augus knew now that there were too many trump cards that Gwyn could play as punishment.

Gwyn grunted softly when Augus lowered his mouth over the tip of him, warm and wet. A moment later, Augus lifted his head.

‘You’re running far hotter than usual, do you have a temperature?’

‘Stop stalling,’ Gwyn clipped off.

Dread and arousal swirled through him as Augus lowered his head once more. Was he running hot? Gwyn realised it was probably true. His light was far closer to the surface lately, it split through his cells, made him ravenous to replace that which was destroyed inside of him. He’d learned a long time ago that he had to eat far more than the average fae, just to keep himself conscious. The light destroyed even when he wasn’t using it, his body healed what remained, it was a never-ending cycle that burnt constantly through his energy reserves.

Gwyn tried to concentrate as Augus pressed down, enveloped him with wetness, the movements precise. It felt...good, if detached. It wasn’t messy or passionate or eager, he didn’t think it ever would be, with Augus. He shivered when Augus bobbed his head up and down a few times, and then he shook his head, because this wasn’t the deal. Not this shallow, detached, wet warmth. He wanted a great deal more.

‘Lower,’ Gwyn said, and Augus’ fingers dug into his thighs. Gwyn watched the nails. They didn’t penetrate the skin, but they could, so easily. ‘Try, Augus.’

Augus lifted his head and glared at Gwyn.

‘Try,’ Gwyn said again, with a lazy, predatory smile.

‘I will break you apart one day,’ Augus said, and Gwyn nodded, because perhaps one day it would be true. If the stab in the back didn’t come from his family, perhaps it would come from Augus. He’d almost prefer it be him.

‘Jack seems very happy with Pitch,’ Gwyn said easily. ‘You breaking people apart, that has almost no staying power.’

‘He still has nightmares about it,’ Augus said, with cold certainty.

‘How do you know?’

‘Because I’m _good_ at what I do.’

Augus scraped fingernails down Gwyn’s thighs and narrowed his eyes, and Gwyn shrugged.

‘Who defeated who? Tell me. I’ve forgotten.’

‘Shall I describe to you what your intestines felt like against my fingers?’

Gwyn’s jaw tightened. _No._ He didn’t want this. He didn’t know why he kept coming down here when Augus was so dangerous. One moment, he was convinced he would leave the waterhorse alone. That would be best, after all. The next he was telling himself that he was King, he’d _earned_ this, Augus had to learn his place. He bounced back and forth in his mind on the issue, and then Augus would say something like this and Gwyn would feel like an idiot.

‘Don’t push me,’ Gwyn said darkly. ‘I’m not in the mood.’

‘Are you ever?’ Augus said, licking a firm stripe up the side of Gwyn’s cock and maintaining a smug eye contact.

‘ _Augus,’_ Gwyn warned, and Augus’ smirk disappeared.

He rose up and lowered his head once more, and Gwyn hissed when he felt the light, almost playful scrape of teeth. That was deliberate. It didn’t matter if Gwyn enjoyed it, that had been a threat.

‘Obviously you don’t care about Ash,’ Gwyn bit out, recalling the threat he’d made last time, and Augus made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat that hummed through Gwyn’s flesh. Signs of teeth disappeared as he opened his mouth wider. He pushed himself down and then his shoulders tensed as he went further, and Gwyn felt the head of his cock brush the back of Augus’ throat.

He groaned, restrained himself from thrusting upwards. That felt...very good. Augus lifted his head almost immediately and then lowered his mouth again, his right hand tightening on Gwyn’s thigh, as though he didn’t want to fall. Gwyn stared down at that grip, breathing through the sensation of what Augus was doing, then tore his eyes away. He couldn’t focus on things like that or he would begin to care, again, about Augus. The attack that occurred after taking Augus to the lake was proof that he couldn’t.

Augus continued for some time, but never opened his throat on the downstroke. Gwyn shifted impatiently, and then leaned forwards and placed fingers delicately on Augus’ neck when he reached bottom. Augus immediately tensed.

‘You have to swallow,’ Gwyn said. ‘It’s the easiest way, at first.’

Augus made a stifled sound that was a mix of indignation and annoyance.

‘Try, Augus,’ Gwyn purred, and Augus growled around him. The sound rippled through Gwyn and he slumped backwards, gasping. That felt _good._ Augus did it again, and Gwyn grunted, spreading his legs wider.

Surprisingly, Augus did try swallowing. Gwyn felt the motion all the way along his cock and he moaned. A second later, Augus choked and rose up quickly, gasping for breath. He had his face averted, the hands on his thighs had tightened. Gwyn watched him, wondered how long he felt like waiting before telling Augus to move. He didn’t plan on finishing in Augus’ mouth, and the cold detachment he felt was keeping him from coming. Likely that would change very quickly once he was buried inside of him.

‘That’s some gag reflex you have,’ Gwyn said, and Augus shook his head in response.

‘It’s actually just that I find you _repellent.’_

‘Try again,’ Gwyn said sternly. Augus glared at him, and Gwyn smiled in response.

Augus rolled his eyes and then began again, swallowed, and Gwyn could tell that Augus was trying. He concentrated hard on not moving, on remaining as still as possible. Heat was spreading closer to the pores of his skin, he broke out in a full body sweat. The light was close. He’d have to watch himself when he fucked Augus if he wasn’t careful. But he didn’t want to have to do that while fucking him, he’d have to master it _now_. He grit his teeth and pulled his attention inwards, focused on bringing his light back down to a reasonable level.

Augus withdrew and stared at him, saliva making his lips gleam in the dull light.

‘Where are you?’ Augus said, and Gwyn blinked back to awareness. The light had sunk lower, but it still scraped at him. He shifted and met those green eyes, not knowing exactly what to say.

‘Worried you’re not pleasing me?’ Gwyn said eventually and Augus’ head tilted to the side, as he studied Gwyn curiously.

‘How long did you feel like this, before you forced Cyledr to eat Nwython’s heart?’

Gwyn’s teeth ground together. Every time Augus brought that up, it sent a chill through his spine. Augus had forced him to talk about it in explicit detail the very first time, the time he’d allowed Augus to...do whatever he wanted. Augus hadn’t given him any cause to regret talking about the incident then, but Gwyn regretted it frequently now. The others who knew of it – and enough did – never brought it up, wouldn’t dare. Sometimes they stared at Gwyn as though they couldn’t quite believe he was capable of such a thing. They all thought those actions had been the result of some kind of extended battle-frenzy, that he was in a berserker-like state. They were wrong.

Gwyn got up and pushed Augus to the ground, pulling lubricant out of his pocket.

‘All fours,’ Gwyn said, and Augus licked his lips and then wiped saliva away with the back of his hand. The casual carnality of it was a reminder that for all of Augus’ fastidiousness, he was far more familiar with sex than Gwyn had ever been.

‘Perhaps I’m not the only King who will go mad in my lifetime. You’ve already done it once, before you were King. Why not again? I’m curious though, who will you go to this time? Who will pick up the pieces? It obviously can’t be me.’

‘I am not going _mad,’_ Gwyn spat out, as Augus gracefully lowered himself on all fours, bowing his back and looking over his shoulder like he was made for it. The image hit Gwyn like a blow to the gut, and his mouth dropped open. A dark shaft of heat pushed through him and he stared at Augus hungrily. He wanted to hurt him, wanted to lose himself in fire and light and frenzy.

‘Is that what your victims see before you slay them on the battlefield?’ Augus said, taking in Gwyn’s expression, looking entirely nonchalant.

Gwyn slicked himself up with less lubricant than he would normally use, that was the _point_ of all of this. He knelt between Augus’ legs, scraped his fingernails hard down the line of Augus’ spine, watching with satisfaction when the skin blanched white, then turned red. Augus hissed and his head dropped between his arms.

‘Ask me,’ Gwyn said, licking his lips.

‘For which? To fuck me? To hurt me? Both?’ Augus said, a rich amusement colouring his voice as Gwyn dug his nails into the vulnerable space where upper thigh met the base of Augus’ ass. Augus grunted and then laughed. ‘Do it, already.’

Gwyn pressed two fingers – the ones that still had residual lubricant on them – into Augus with no preamble. Augus exhaled sharply, inhaled slow, forcing his breathing to steady. The stretch was tight, but Gwyn didn’t stop until he was buried up to his knuckles. Here, Augus was no longer lukewarm, but a snug furnace around his fingers. Gwyn lowered his mouth to Augus’ side and bit so hard that he drew blood. It was hot, viscous, a coppery oil. Gwyn wanted to forget everything except sensation. He wanted Augus to forget his own name. He _wanted._

He stretched Augus roughly, feeling the moment when Augus consciously relaxed against him. His breathing was ragged already, and he couldn’t help but roughly trail his hand down Augus’ chest and ribs as he worked him open.

He didn’t want to be more thorough, didn’t want to check Augus was ready, only wanted to _take._ It filled his mind with a raw, white energy that sparked like electricity across the back of his eyes. Augus had told him, after all, that he could probably take Gwyn’s vicious streak, had told him that he wasn’t human, had _offered_ to do this. The grin that curled across Gwyn’s mouth was feral, exacting.

He withdrew his fingers and drank in Augus’ rough exhale, before positioning himself. He gripped Augus’ hips hard, knowing he was leaving bruises. There were things he wanted to say, sentences that piled up like needles in the back of his throat. But in the end nothing came forth, and he decided this was beyond words, beyond gloating.

Gwyn thrust forwards and almost sank himself to the hilt, the friction ripping a gasp from his throat. Augus flinched beneath him, his hips strained, he made a sound of pained shock.

‘Wait,’ Augus rasped, ‘wait, wait, _wait.’_

It was not the first time Gwyn had heard that said, nor would it be the last. He pulled Augus back by his hips and pushed forwards, watching the way Augus’ hands splayed and then dug into the ground. Augus moaned, broken, and Gwyn felt sparks that resolved into laughter as Augus tried to pull himself forwards.

‘I did say I would hurt you,’ Gwyn ground out, and Augus pressed his forehead to the floor, he collapsed down to his arms.

‘I did say...I could take it,’ Augus said, trembling, voice far rougher than usual.

Gwyn withdrew at those words and slammed back in. Augus – usually so reserved – cried out, then whimpered when Gwyn started a hard, brutal rhythm, pushing Augus down with one hand between his shoulder blades, the other holding his hips steady.

The heat was delicious, Gwyn swore he could taste it in the back of his throat; yuzu and pomelo, a citrusy blend that left liquid light on the back of his tongue. It felt _good._ It had been far too long since he’d found himself claiming a willing soldier at the end of a battle, far too long since he’d allowed himself to indulge in this. It was long before he’d met with the Guardians, before the days when he realised that Augus was up to something, when he realised he needed to focus.

Gwyn picked up the pace and Augus shuddered.

‘ _Fuck,’_ Augus managed, exhaling hard on every thrust.

Gwyn paused, leaned forwards so that he was arching over Augus. He lowered his arms on either side of Augus’. He pushed his forearm underneath Augus’ collarbones so that he could get a better grip on Augus’ shoulder, sinking his teeth deep into the flesh at the base of his neck. Augus hissed.

It could have been an intimate position, except that Gwyn was increasing his leverage, wanting to have a good grip on Augus before he started again. He wanted to be closer to all the sounds that Augus would make, to those shredded exhales, the hitched breaths. Augus turned his head to the side, damp hair clinging to Gwyn’s arm. He slid eyes wet with tears up to Gwyn’s, a red flush across his cheeks, a spot of blood visible where he’d bitten his lower lip.

Gwyn stared. Augus was beautiful. It didn’t matter what he was doing, he just was. It was something both Courts knew and took for granted. It was one of the primary reasons that the Raven Prince first let Augus into his Court, simply to have that preternatural beauty nearby. And like this, green eyes highlighted with tears, flushed and most importantly, _Gwyn’s..._

‘Tell me you’re close,’ Augus said, voice ragged.

Gwyn nodded. Augus closed his eyes.

‘Am I deep enough?’ Gwyn said, grinding his hips forwards and feeling Augus groan against his forearm.

‘ _Yes,’_ Augus said, squeezing his eyes shut further, tears leaking out of them.

‘Do you ache, Augus?’ Gwyn said, moving his hips back experimentally and then shoving forwards again, pulling Augus close to him with the hand on his shoulder.

Augus whimpered.

‘You _know_ I do,’ he managed. ‘And I suppose this is clearly the calm before the storm.’

_Yes,_ Gwyn thought, _it is._

Gwyn’s arm tightened across the top of Augus’ chest, his fingers dug into Augus’ shoulders. The grip was good.

Gwyn stayed deep, started a steady, firm rhythm that increased in speed and force until sounds were spilling out of Augus’ mouth near constantly. It felt incredible. It was a fire in the base of him, the whirl of a disturbed bonfire. Gwyn had a moment, a single moment to realise – with some chagrin – that he’d been gentler than he’d wanted, and even now he felt like he’d been tricked somehow, that Augus was manipulating him. It moved through him as an unsettled, raw energy. Left him desperate to prove himself.

He grit his teeth and slammed in harder, increased the length of his strokes, and Augus cried out, a broken, wet sound.

Gwyn was close, familiar flares of heat gutting him from the inside out. He followed that caustic, blistering ache until everything went white behind his closed eyes, until he could taste it in the back of his throat. The light.

Gwyn shouted in arousal, alarm. It was _too close._ He hadn’t done a good enough job repressing it before, Augus had interrupted him.

Gwyn roared in frustration, sinking deep inside of himself even as he started to come. He unlocked from the sensation of it, furious with himself that he hadn’t done better earlier, finding the edges of light and gathering them up with a fist of energy, shaking hard and overwhelmed as he tried to balance between pushing the light down where it didn’t want to go, and emptying himself inside of Augus, barely aware of what was happening, cheated out of his release.

He’d finished coming long before he’d finished wrangling his own light. Had it really been so close to the surface lately? It was too _dangerous._ He mentally stomped it back down again, slumping forwards against Augus’ damp, lukewarm skin when he was done. His breathing was uneven, shallow. There’d been release, but he hadn’t _felt_ it.

His own power had cheated him.

He withdrew from Augus, then looked down absently. A small amount of blood, hardly anything, and certainly a great deal less than what Augus had taken from Gwyn all that time ago. He didn’t know if he felt disappointed or relieved.

He did feel groggy. Snapping from one mindset to the other, so quickly, to bring himself under control like that...

And even now, he could feel the light straining up and forwards, already racing along the back of his spine, flickering behind his eyes. The light wanted out, and he couldn’t let it.

He was surprised to see Augus had already pushed himself up to a standing position. When had that happened? Gwyn put himself away, laced up his breeches, felt ill.

‘Gwyn,’ Augus said uncertainly. ‘What is wrong? I know we have no...I know it is not my place to ask, but I have to ask. _Something_ is wrong. Before you think this is entirely altruistic, let’s keep in mind that I am entirely at your mercy. I seem to be benefitted when you’re not dabbling with madness. Besides, I know you, somewhat. I know that-’

‘Don’t you pretend that you know me!’ Gwyn shouted at him, unable to stand that false, soft voice. ‘I know that this is a trick!’

‘Paranoia?’ Augus said, and Gwyn’s hands balled into fists. He hadn’t sated _anything._

‘I’m familiar with your paranoia,’ Augus said again, quietly. ‘I’ve seen this before too.’

He needed a Hunt, but the Wild Hunt was a month away. He needed... _something._

‘Gwyn, perhaps-’

Gwyn struck out and grabbed Augus by his upper arms, swinging and slamming him back into the wall. Augus blinked hard, his chest heaved, Gwyn had winded him.

‘Don’t you _dare_ pretend that you know me,’ Gwyn snarled. ‘Don’t you presume to think that because you broke me down centuries ago, you know me _now._ You don’t know the first thing about me, you-’

‘I know what you’re capable of,’ Augus gasped. ‘I’ve seen it. Experienced it. I know this was supposed to feel _good_ for you, and instead-’

Gwyn didn’t want to hear any of it. He kept a tight-fisted control on his light as he let it dissolve him from the cell and back into his own room. His last image of Augus was of his eyes widening in surprise when he realised that Gwyn was simply exiting the conversation halfway through it.

Once in his own room, Gwyn turned and slammed his fist into the wall, knocking chunks out of the stone and breaking his knuckles from a combination of the force and the angle. He made a fractured noise, cradled his fist to his chest, trembled.

His hand would heal by the end of the day.

But nothing else would.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, 'Hunt' (from Augus' perspective!): 
> 
> _‘Gwyn!’_ Augus said, compulsion finding its way to his voice even though he hadn’t intended it. ‘This is insanity. You know that, don’t you?’


	9. Hunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: This chapter is from Augus' perspective. And from here on in, there's an Augus perspective chapter about every two/three chapters.
> 
> This chapter is quite dark, and the new tags warn for injury and disturbing themes. Remember to always look after yourself while reading darkfic! However, the ending does signify a tonal shift in the fic, and I'm going to updating a bit more quickly over the next two weeks to get us into Act 2, which is... which looks very different from the vista right now. 
> 
> I'll be able to add 'hurt/comfort' as a genuine tag soon. 
> 
> Thank you to EVERYONE who is reading / commenting / kudosing. And thank you to the people who have bookmarked this. Everyone rocks.

It had been months since he’d eaten properly. Months upon months. He felt it as a gnawing, constant ache in his organs. He felt it in the weakness of his poison; weaker than it should have been, even for an underfae. And, after all, he would know. That’s where he started out in the first place. His weakness was in the brittleness of his small, hooked claws and the way less waterweed grew from his scalp.

These days he could live almost indefinitely on water alone. But not eating flesh kept him weak. And though he had never allowed himself to fall into such a state of disrepair before, he could just imagine how dreadfully difficult it would be to hunt his prey like this, without the benefit of most of his powers. His compulsions were also weaker. He tended not to look for weak-willed food, but it was the stronger-willed that were better able to resist him. And he was famished, he would eat anything, at this point. He didn’t like to dwell on how much weaker he might be in a year’s time, two, three, three _hundred_.

Then again, with how unpredictable Gwyn had been of late, it wasn’t as though he’d likely live out to see another three centuries in the cell. He’d either be killed, or perhaps he’d finally find a way to slaughter his way out of the Seelie Court.

He sat quietly in his cell, allowing his thoughts to bend and trickle like water through his own mind. He didn’t put up barriers of resistance but instead let them flow. Pleasant memories mingled with unpleasant ones, ripples were cast by realisations or sentences, and other ideas fell like stones into the deep, dark pool of his mind. He could spend hours, days like this if he had to. And he had. Water merged with its environment, it fit its container perfectly.

And while he would be the first to admit he was not a perfect fit for the cell, he adapted. He was the Each Uisge, and that’s what he did. He adapted.

This was not the worst cell he’d ever spent time in. Not by a mile.

It had perturbed him when Gwyn had taken him to the lake and used Augus’ love of water to pull an almost pleasant exchange out from under his skin. He still shivered to think on it, how the water had lapped at him fully. How Gwyn had seemed to be playing no game at all. How his large, often unforgiving hands were not cruel against him, but crudely compelling. Augus had realised then that he was in trouble. He didn’t particularly care for Gwyn, who had woken to the world with privilege at his fingertips and yet still managed to mope, sourly, through every day that followed. He didn’t particularly care that aspects of Gwyn’s childhood had been difficult; that was such a tired trope, and there were plenty of other people whose parents were demanding, who didn’t become power hungry creatures prone to fits of terrifying insanity.

It was one thing to confront that insanity from a position of power, to tie it up and restrain it with rope, to bleed it until it broke into pieces leaving a vulnerable, shaking man in its wake. It was quite another thing entirely to be tied up by that insanity, restrained by it, bled by it. The air around Gwyn charged and changed when he moved into that mood. It turned feverish and spilled like sparks of static electricity. Augus’ survival instinct kicked in strong and fervent; kill or be killed. The very power that made Gwyn so well-suited to directing the Wild Hunt, made him an unpredictable captor, especially when the madness was near.

He wouldn’t forget the satisfaction he’d felt plunging his weaker fingers into Gwyn’s gut, staring up at that sudden blankness, forcing Gwyn to recognise that Augus was no submissive underfae.

But Augus hadn’t thought that through. Gwyn’s attitude towards him had spoiled utterly. The last time Gwyn had visited him...

Frightening and yet intriguing. Gwyn was nothing more than a callous workhorse and yet...

Augus leaned his head back against the wall and narrowed his eyes sleepily at the loamy earth opposite him.

And yet Gwyn had still prepared him more than Augus had thought he would. He’d slowed down. He’d not actually been anywhere near as rough nor violent as Augus had been expecting. What was that about? Could he use it? He didn’t know – yet – the best way to move against Gwyn. He was the Seelie King, after all. Augus could thrust his fingers into Gwyn’s abdominal cavity, he could even puncture organs, but he was underfae; he could not break bone, could not scramble the nerves along the spinal cord. Could not _kill_ him. He was almost certain of that. Augus had a fair idea of how powerful he was, even against the upper classes of fae, but Gwyn’s Kingship awarded him a power that Augus had experienced himself when he had been Unseelie King.

He doubted he could kill him.

And it was Gwyn’s will – literally – that kept him within the cell. He couldn’t escape even if he disabled Gwyn. He couldn’t compel it out of him, because Gwyn was damnably resistant to his compulsions. Augus had tried to use compulsion against Gwyn all that time ago, he had tried to simply compel the madness away with no success at all.

A small part of him entertained feelings of worry. It bemused him, that after all this time, he would worry about Gwyn’s wellbeing. Especially _now._ How dull. But it was a throwback to his purpose. He could not dominate someone, put them back together again, see them as whole as they could be in that moment, and then remove the care he nurtured in that time he spent with his clients. Once struck, it stayed, a glinting thread of awareness. It was why – for the most part – he never saw clients a second time. The care would grow, and Augus liked to stay detached from everyone.

Everyone except the Raven Prince, and Ash.

Augus laughed, a quiet, amused sound.

_Look at what you did to the both of them. One is nothing more than the whisper of his former self thanks to your efforts. And the other a King, a thrice-damned, completely forgiven, unsuited for the job, King._

Thinking of Ash opened a wound in his heart, and though he did not chase those thoughts away, he winced to be confronted with them. He did not like to dwell on Ash, he particularly didn’t like to dwell on how it had gone between them, last time. The day that he’d started out as King, and finished as Gwyn’s captive; underfae, unconscious.

Thousands of years of memories behind him, he and Ash together, and all his mind offered him – time and time again – was that hideous day.

Augus’ skin prickled and he stood up quickly.

He could pick the energy of Gwyn approaching easily. And he could tell from how rapidly it rose in the atmosphere that Gwyn was teleporting directly into the cell, instead of walking down that interminable corridor, every step a threat, a promise, a possible opportunity.

Gwyn appeared in front of him. He was dressed for the Wild Hunt, even though it wasn’t time. His boots were laced up to the top of his calves, dark brown pants, the pale green shirt that looked as though it could have been constructed from leaves, except that it was all of a piece. He had his quiver of arrows attached already. He held his recurve bow with a dark confidence. Augus saw his expression, saw the look in his eye, and felt a cold, liquid dread move through him.

_This is too familiar. Has he already forced someone to do the equivalent of consuming someone’s heart? Or is the insane cretin saving that for me?_

Gwyn’s face was hard, he didn’t even look like he was fully present. Augus felt the singularly disconcerting feeling of Gwyn staring _through_ him. He knew, then, there was no point offering up one of the many taunts that came to mind. He would wait for Gwyn to make the first move. His nails were sharp. He knew the pressure points to attack, he didn’t think Gwyn knew he was trained in those. Hunter and hunted. Shame the predator was _crazy._

It was times like this that his mind helpfully offered up how Gwyn had looked back then. How Gwyn had simply teleported into his outer chamber, _covered_ in blood, wild and unruly. He’d collapsed to his knees before Augus had even arrived; already penitent, seeking forgiveness for crimes that Augus could only make him voice by ripping them out of him with pain, touch, tenderness, blood. Gwyn had responded to the knife so beautifully, his face twisting in a way that left Augus wondering what it might be like if he’d had Gwyn longer. Because he knew, even back then, there was more to pull out of that dense, cluttered mind; he didn’t always want more time with the fae that visited him for his services, but he’d wanted more time with Gwyn. At the time he remembered thinking, ‘You can take more,’ right at the moment when Gwyn had cried – broken – ‘I can’t take it anymore.’

Augus stared at Gwyn as he had all that time ago, when he’d walked through his home into the outer chamber and found Gwyn, kneeling, trembling. It was a casual, indifferent stare. Gwyn hated it, the gaze unsettled him, and _perfect,_ because if the brute was already unstable, might as well make the instability work in his favour.

He didn’t move when Gwyn reached out and dug his fingers into his shoulder, he relaxed into the teleportation. For all that Gwyn’s light was a strange, fey thing – even by fae standards – the light he used when teleporting was tame and warm, gentle and mastered. It was – like Gwyn’s talent with the sword – something that had been perfected with time. Augus reluctantly conceded, as they dissolved into their new surroundings, even his own ability to teleport wasn’t quite so refined.

Gwyn was a mess of contradictions, that such careful refinement could come out of someone who could have the intelligence of a block of wood on a bad day.  

He became aware of a forest around them; woody smells, and nearby, _water._ More than that, Augus took a deep, shuddering breath when he realised that they were beyond the Seelie Court. Well beyond it. The energy of the Seelie Court was a constant scrape in the back of his throat. Being beyond its walls in a forest he didn’t quite know was a weight off his shoulders, a freedom he hadn’t been aware he’d missed.

This was the closest he’d been to literal freedom in some time.

He tried to compose his face, aware that he’d let his expression slip. The pleasure of being away from the Seelie Court, out in the open, had stolen over his face. Gwyn caught the shift before Augus could smooth his features. There was a cold, smug satisfaction there, and Augus looked around the dense forest, his heart picking up its normally sluggish pace, his pulse spiralling higher.

‘Special occasion?’ Augus said, voice even.

Gwyn’s smirk widened and Augus wanted to roll his eyes. Wanted to lash out. Wanted to flee. This was _not good._ He much preferred to be on the predator side of the fence, being prey was so dreary. Being Gwyn’s, even moreso.

‘I find I am in need of a good hunt,’ Gwyn said, his voice flat.

He drew one of his arrows out smoothly, and then looked at Augus meaningfully.

Augus’ stomach dropped. He couldn’t believe it. He should have suspected, perhaps especially after how things had gone last time when Gwyn had been a mess in the ether. He’d been a tangle of knotted energy that Augus could no longer decipher except to see the bigger picture of not safe, not sane.

What was happening in his Kingdom that was driving him to this?

_It hardly matters, what could you do even if you knew?_

‘You are not hunting _me,’_ Augus said, incredulous, and Gwyn simply notched the arrow to the bowstring. He didn’t raise it, but the action spoke volumes.

‘Am I not? Here, I’ll make it fair. I’ll give you a head-start.’

‘ _Gwyn!’_ Augus said, compulsion finding its way to his voice even though he hadn’t intended it. ‘This is insanity. You know that, don’t you?’

‘The family curse,’ Gwyn said, a strange fire in his eyes. ‘I’m well aware.’

The worst part was that he sounded so in control, and that was likely what Cyledr saw, as Gwyn was ordering him to eat his father’s heart. The stark, deadened resolve on his face was a promise, not an idle threat. Augus didn’t think Gwyn would be receptive to words, taunts, insults.

But did it matter? Did Gwyn’s imprisonment hold outside of the Seelie Court? Would it be possible to escape? Perhaps, in his waterhorse form, except...

Augus winced. No. He didn’t have the energy to sustain a change. And worse, his hooves would give away his location, he’d be loud. Gwyn was supernaturally fast when he needed to be, even without a steed during the Wild Hunt, even when he was tracking the White Stag on foot, he was fleet and silent. Augus didn’t like his chances.

But if there was a _slight_ chance... could he get free? Had Gwyn presented him with a loophole to his imprisonment?

‘So what pushed you over the edge this time? Win a battle? Lose a battle?’

‘I’m surprised you’re not running,’ Gwyn said, raising his eyebrows and pursing his lips. ‘Don’t want that head-start after all, do you?’

‘What are the stakes?’ Augus heard himself ask, and cursed himself, it was stupid to buy into this. He should be running by now. And yet a part of him hoped, looked for a sliver of Gwyn that lay underneath the madness. But perhaps it had never been like that after all. Perhaps the madness was what lay beneath the sliver of Gwyn.

Gwyn simply tilted his head to one side and watched Augus, calculating. In that moment he was so much the product of his family, his parents, that Augus’ blood ran cold. His skin crawled. He took an involuntary step backwards and then froze when Gwyn raised the bow and arrow easily. Just like that, he had an arrow pointing at his heart.

He was underfae now. It would kill him.

‘You don’t want to kill me,’ Augus said in a rush, becoming suddenly aware of how much he did look like prey; nude, not at his best, less powerful. ‘You would turn one half of the Unseelie monarchy against you.’

‘The stupid half,’ Gwyn said, and Augus ground his teeth together. ‘The stupid half that isn’t running the Kingdom, and isn’t – strictly – necessary anymore.’

‘Who would you get to mindlessly fuck with no consequences in the future?’

‘ _That_ part is a shame. I’m sure I’ll live,’ Gwyn said, and Augus swallowed, stared at the tip of the arrow pointing at him.

‘And who, pray tell, will you go to when you come back to your senses? Just enough, just _enough,_ to realise that you need help?’

‘Maybe I won’t come back this time,’ Gwyn rasped, and Augus saw the first flicker of something that might have been sanity underneath Gwyn’s expression. But what he saw didn’t reassure him. _Something_ must have happened. Augus’ taunts weren’t scaring Gwyn back to stable ground, only reminding him of something he wanted to escape. There was desperation beneath that cold, hard facade. A lot of it.

Augus took another step backwards.

‘You don’t want to come back to your senses,’ Augus said, and Gwyn smiled, the desperation disappeared like a candle flame being blown out.

‘Augus, I don’t even want to _talk.’_

Augus’ eyes flickered around him, he had no idea where he was, where to go. He could sense water in two different directions. Water would make him stronger...at least, strong for an underfae. But Gwyn could sense water too, and Gwyn would expect him to go in those directions, and if he _knew_ this forest...

‘How much of a head-start?’ Augus said, abandoning all pretence that he was indifferent to this, aware of the breathlessness in his own voice. Gwyn shrugged.

‘Minutes.’

Augus didn’t trust that he had that long. He turned and fled. He half-expected an arrow to pierce his ribs or his spine even as he struck out into the densest part of the forest. He might not have possessed Gwyn’s natural fleetness, but he was not human, born waterhorse, and even without shifting he was still preternaturally fast, able to process his environment quickly, mapping the forest with his vision even as he passed what he’d just seen.

His feet instinctively sought to put himself downwind. And he found himself curving around to lower ground, seeking water after all. If he could find those water sources, if they were deep enough, he could simply shift to waterhorse form and wait at the bottom of the black, wait until Gwyn had burnt through his madness or until he became bored and looked for some other quarry to sate his bloodlust.

 _And then what? Turn yourself over to the mercy of the Unseelie Court? You weren’t taken in by them in the first place, why would they take you now? What – exactly – have you done to prove that you’re remotely trustworthy, and why would you go_ back?

Augus only just managed to swallow down the pained sound that pushed up in the back of his throat. Ash hadn’t even taken him back into the Unseelie Court when Augus had been defeated, had forced him out of his _home._ He drove his thoughts away from the damaged relationship between he and Ash and misplaced his feet. He fell heavily, grunted when his hip slammed into a outcropping of jagged rock. It cut into his skin, would leave a scent  trail that Gwyn could follow. Augus growled at himself in frustration.

_Get free first, worry about where you’ll go after._

At least ten minutes had passed when he came across the first source of water he’d sensed. It was nothing more than a creek, not deep enough to sustain a change. He plunged into it. It was harder to run through in his human form, but it would mask his scent. His hip was oozing blood and even _he_ could smell it.

Time passed and Augus became paranoid that Gwyn was tracking him, was right behind him but somehow silent, just watching. He wanted to ascribe it to paranoia, but his instincts were so rarely _wrong._

But it caused dread to coil up thick inside of him. Was an arrow notched even now? Was Gwyn simply enjoying his predicament?

Augus tore out of the creek and leapt over undergrowth into a particularly dense part of forest, trying to escape the feeling that he was being watched, stalked, _hunted._

It was outrageous, freedom was so close he could practically taste it as fresh water and chlorophyll green and yet it wasn’t close at all. How could it be, with one of the fae’s greatest hunters after him? And there was a time to be arrogant and a time to be realistic. He was _not_ one of the fae’s greatest hunters. Certainly, he could master the energy of the Wild Hunt, but that was different. He had no allies, he wasn’t sure where he would go except that he’d likely have to hide in the human world, but none of that mattered if he could just find a lake deep enough to hold him, to place him out of Gwyn’s reach.

In his waterhorse form, at the bottom of a lake, he’d stand a good chance against Gwyn, even if Gwyn swam down into the water.

Augus held back a thread of distressed laughter. So many ‘ifs’ – if he could find a lake, if it was deep enough, if he could fight back adequately when Gwyn was in this state of mind.  

He’d lost the control he had over the situation when he’d retaliated against Gwyn without provocation. He’d reflected on that time in the lake, had time to realise that Gwyn – perhaps without even realising – was nurturing... _something_ towards him. To go from their first meeting, to voluntarily taking him into the pool of water and gazing up at him with that expression on his pale face...it had been _something._

But Augus hadn’t wanted anything to do with it, and he’d over-reacted. Because once upon a time another creature had been gentle with him, had been – after a period of captivity – sensual and if not caring, then attentive. And even though Gwyn was worlds apart from the Nightmare King, it had made him uncomfortable when he’d realised the similarities, when he’d realised that Gwyn could play him so easily, so _easily,_ if Augus allowed it. If Gwyn had the mind for it.

And he’d resolved not to allow it. But shoving his fingers into Gwyn’s gut had not been revenge against Gwyn. No. It had been an older, darker revenge. A promise against a formless enemy that didn’t exist anymore. Augus had treated Gwyn with a callous lack of mercy and Gwyn having seen it...nothing had been the same since.

That was when he’d lost control. The instant he’d stared at Gwyn, feeling cool water and the heat of Gwyn’s blood pouring down his fingers and pooling hot in the water around them. Gwyn’s mouth had opened in a spasm of pain, and he’d stared with a wide, shocked look on his face. He’d looked – incredibly – like Augus had broken the rules.

And now the consequences were that Gwyn – also – was breaking the rules.

_To be fair to me though, I haven’t been at my best lately. He technically has no excuse._

Augus managed a barely controlled slide down an embankment, hissing as his feet were cut up on rocks barely hidden by soil and grass. The scent of water thickened in the air, and he sprang forwards because there _was_ a lake hidden nearby. It was no creek, no jaunty, shallow brook, but a _lake._ He could practically feel the deep, watery silt against his fingers.

He leapt off the base of the embankment and landed surprisingly well for the twelve foot drop. Especially given the state of his feet. He saw the water gleaming beyond a copse of trees, a breeze above catching the light of the rippling surface. Perhaps there was a fae already in there, he didn’t care, he just needed to-

He fell hard, a weight slammed into him.

_Gwyn._

They struggled in earnest. He was surprised it hadn’t been an arrow, and realised that he must have actually started to lose Gwyn when he’d slid down the embankment. Augus growled when Gwyn tore at his hair, because that stung and was just _petty._ Gwyn dug the fingers of his other hand into Augus’ throat, crushing his windpipe, and Augus caught a sight of the expression on his face as he lashed out, and then wished he hadn’t.

 _Not good. This is_ not _good._

Snarling, he reached for the recurve bow hanging at Gwyn’s hip. He wrapped his fingers around the wood, gasped for breath, and then with a jerk of his whole body managed to snap the bow and make it useless.

 _You can kill me, but you’re_ not _doing it like I’m some White Stag that will rise from the dead once you’re done. Do it with your hands, if you’re so desperate._

But Gwyn obviously hadn’t expected Augus to snap the bow, he paused – surprised – and Augus used the instant to backhand Gwyn across the face before clawing up at his eyes. Gwyn reared back, furrows from Augus’ fingernails opening a bloody mess down his cheek. He lifted Augus with the grip on his neck and slammed him back into the ground. Augus gasped, dazed, he needed more _air._

Gwyn repeated the gesture twice more until Augus was nearly insensate. Augus was aware of Gwyn’s other arm twisting behind his back for his arrows, even while the grip stayed strong around his throat.

Augus was surprised that he wasn’t more frightened, but – he supposed – concussion would do that.

When his vision cleared and he saw Gwyn lowering the point of the arrow to the flesh of his shoulder, his panic returned. He shouted out hoarsely when the metal point pierced him, struggled, only succeeded in ripping his own flesh further.

Augus tried all the tricks he could think of – bringing his knee up, working against Gwyn’s weight, trying to use Gwyn’s weight against him, aiming for pressure points, but he hadn’t realised that Gwyn was so experienced in hand to hand combat, and Augus had always found the practice of wrestling to be beneath him. He was outweighed and disadvantaged.

The arrow pressed deeper and deeper, cutting through muscle, causing his shoulder to go into spasm. It was nowhere near his heart. It wasn’t supposed to be. Augus shouted in rage when he realised that Gwyn wasn’t even trying to kill him, not _yet,_ just causing _pain._ It was a level of cold, ruthless sadism that he didn’t have the patience for. Not _this._

Augus couldn’t overpower him physically, he’d _have_ to use words. But what to use, what to use when the few forays he’d tried earlier had all been shut down?

And then it occurred to him, a split of realisation that sent an almost unholy sense of glee through his pained, bleeding body. Even if it killed him to say it, at least Gwyn would _hear_ him. At least he’d be haunted by it.

What was it that Gwyn had said? Augus cast his mind back into the past for the exact words. He’d been ripping the story of Nwython and Cyledr from Gwyn, only to hear Gwyn recall Cyledr’s words as he held his own father’s heart.

_That will do nicely._

Augus reached up with his good hand and managed to get enough air. Just enough.

‘Papa! Nwython! _Forgive me!’_

The arrow point slipped against his shoulder blade and Augus choked on a scream. But Gwyn had stopped moving, his hand fell off the arrow and fell to the ground, caught his weight. Gwyn blinked down at Augus in confusion, disoriented. Augus started to ram his knee up into Gwyn’s crotch, but Gwyn rolled off him quickly, pushing himself upright and away.

Augus watched, head pounding, as Gwyn staggered to the lake’s edge and threw up violently, bent double, arms wrapped around his torso.

When it became obvious that Gwyn wasn’t about to spring back and murder him, Augus pushed himself awkwardly upright with one arm, the arrow still stuck in his shoulder. He raised a hand to it and ripped it out, knowing he was doing more damage, but even as underfae he’d _heal_ if he was just given a chance to. He felt the heat of his own blood spilling across his chest, finding the concaves of his ribs and curving along with them. It was only as he stood that he became aware of how much pain he was in. His head, his feet, his hip where he’d landed on the rock, his shoulder. He could feel the ache and sting of innumerable cuts from branches, and additional bruises from Gwyn, most likely.

Augus pushed it all aside. He could look at it later. It wasn’t killing him now. He diverted the pain as easily as one could divert a small stream of water by cupping and changing the angle of their hands. He simply poured it into a different part of his mind.

Augus approached Gwyn cautiously, watching to see how he responded. He could feel the hair-trigger of Gwyn’s madness. A palpable weight in the air. He could feel the result of it tracking blood down his torso.

Gwyn looked up at him, a startled reflex, when Augus stepped on a twig and it snapped. His eyes were wild, mad, and Augus raised his eyebrows. It was then that Augus saw that Gwyn was not unscathed. He had deep scratch marks in his cheek where Augus had lashed out at him. His shirt had torn. He had a snarl of leaves tangled up in his hair. There was a trickle of blood from a wound he’d opened on his forearm. He looked feral. Augus was somewhat relieved to know that he had at least made things difficult for him.

He said nothing, only watched. Gwyn stared at him a moment longer, and then his eyes unfocused, his brow creased heavily, and he bent back down to the ground and dry retched.

Augus knew a bad memory when he saw one, he had enough of his own to contend with.

Gwyn looked up several minutes later, not quite catching Augus’ eyes, then looked down at the ground where Augus had dropped the arrow. There was an awareness in his gaze now, he was more present than he had been, at the very least.

‘So you did come back after all,’ Augus said, bemused. And then laughed at the predicament he found himself in. At Gwyn’s bewildered expression. ‘Oh, Gwyn, you threw _hard_ to your father’s side of the family, didn’t you?’

Gwyn made a sound that never quite made it past his throat, and then closed his eyes. He pushed himself upright and wiped at his mouth with forearm. He walked quickly towards Augus, and Augus tensed for a fight when he felt fingers lightly touch his good shoulder. Light surrounded them once more.

It was only in the midst of teleportation that Augus realised he’d missed an excellent opportunity to actually _escape_ , Gwyn had been completely dazed, it would have been perfect. The lake had been right there for the taking. But Augus couldn’t regret that he’d missed it, given that if another fae stumbled across him, odds were high that he’d end up murdered anyway.

Augus was shocked when he saw that Gwyn had transported them not to the cell, but to the rooms of his palace. He didn’t recognise the room they were in, but he could sense Gwyn’s magic in the structure of the walls, the flowing branches of the ceiling.

‘You’ll have access to the lake,’ Gwyn said, as though they were continuing a completely different conversation. He refused to make eye contact, wouldn’t look at Augus’ shoulder.

‘I beg your pardon?’ Augus said.

‘Stay out of the way of those who stray in, there’s never many. I’d prefer it if you weren’t seen up here, for both our sakes.’

_No, he can’t be serious. He can’t mean what I think he means._

‘So we’re not going back to the cell, then?’ Augus said, needing the clarity.

‘I need to think,’ Gwyn said, breathless, taking a step away from him and staggering on perfectly solid, flat ground. Augus stepped forwards, finding this shift equally disturbing.

‘Gwyn,’ Augus said, as Gwyn started to leave the room. ‘Wait.’

‘Get yourself some clothing,’ Gwyn muttered, and Augus blinked.

‘Gwyn-’

‘The trows will heed your orders, but be wary, some aren’t literate if you’re writing down what you want. You are, of course, still captive.’

 _How did I end up in the middle of Gwyn’s palatial rooms, with permission to order clothing, and have free access to the lake, after_ that?

Worse, old instincts were rising up inside of him. If Gwyn had truly snapped out of his madness so abruptly, he wasn’t okay. He shouldn’t be left on his own. At the very least, Augus wanted to make sure that Gwyn didn’t suddenly change his mind and come back to complete whatever torment he’d set his mind towards in the first place. He wondered if he was being played and then realised that the fear he sensed from Gwyn was genuine. The horror in the room was not his own.

Whatever had been pushing him over the edge of late wasn’t gone. It was likely a stimulus that was still out there. Wherever Gwyn was going, he couldn’t escape it. Augus frowned.

‘What access do I have?’ Augus said, and Gwyn paused, his hand on the door where he was leaning, supporting his own weight.

Augus felt a shift of magic around him, and realised that Gwyn was absently setting the permissions within the magic of his own palace. He did it so _easily._ Augus needed a great deal of time to set the permissions in his own palace when he’d been King, and here was Gwyn, doing it despite being confused and disoriented.

‘Everywhere except the outermost circle of palatial rooms, and the innermost circles, which are mine.’

The permissions even made relative sense. Keep Augus out of the outermost circles, where he was most likely to be seen...

‘What were you going to do to me? That wasn’t hunting, Gwyn, that was torture. You would _never_ put your quarry down like that.’ Augus couldn’t stop the hard flinty tone entering his voice. The pain was starting to creep back. He couldn’t divert his awareness of the pain forever, and as fatigue crept upon him, he found it harder and harder to detach himself from what he was feeling.

_Keep me alive just long enough and I will get you back for that, you thick-headed imbecile._

‘I find...it’s dangerous for me to think of you as just a prisoner,’ Gwyn said, he opened the door and Augus stepped forwards again, his torn feet protesting the movement.

‘Gwyn,’ Augus said, ‘I’m not particularly in the mood to be exposed to your torture methods again. You need _help._ Who will you go to? Ondine? Albion?’

‘Leave it,’ Gwyn said, voice turning wooden.

‘You need _help,’_ Augus said, and Gwyn turned back to him, something broken behind his pale eyes.

‘You can’t help me, Augus.’

He laughed despairingly as he exited, and Augus heard the end of Gwyn’s sentence clearly in the laughter:

_No one can._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, 'Display:'
> 
> ‘I’ll be chained, I expect,’ Augus said crisply, changing the subject. ‘Collared and chained. Led around the Court? How do the fae on your side of the fence do it? What, do tell, is the Seelie version of displaying a prisoner?’


	10. Display

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New tags for this chapter: Public Humiliation. 
> 
> This chapter has disturbing themes. Please remember to always look after yourself when reading fics! 
> 
> Just a quick note, this and the next chapter are porn-free - not all the chapters have porn! As this story slinks into having an actual _story_ , there will be more story-oriented chapters, like this one. However, you do get to meet Crielle, Gwyn's mother... that's not really a bonus. 
> 
> *
> 
> Thank you ALL for your comments, bookmarks, subscriptions and kudos; they mean SO much.

Gwyn had given Augus a wide berth for several weeks. Memories of his actions at the ‘hunt’ left him nauseous, and seeing glimpses of Augus in the circles of his own palatial rooms was a reminder that he had taken things too far, that he was out of control. He honestly thought that if he could have gone the rest of his life never seeing Augus again, it would have been a relief. There were things that he couldn’t stand knowing about himself. Things that Augus threw into sharp, unavoidable focus.

He’d told the trows to accept any orders or demands Augus might have for new clothing, or anything else – within reason – that he might require, and they in turn indicated to him that Augus had taken up in a room, and was sometimes seen within the lake. Gwyn wouldn’t have been surprised if Augus was also keeping out of his way. It had seemed entirely too easy not to see him, and he suspected Augus didn’t want much to do with him either.

But life had always conspired against him. Now he had to seek him out once more. He leaned his forehead against a damp, mossy wall and stared at a tiny liverwort growing determinedly on its vertical surface.

He’d held an open Court, as he did once every three weeks. But he hadn’t expected his mother to step forward, every piece of her hair perfectly in place except for one single ringlet allowed to fall down the side of her neck. She had approached him and asked in the most respectful of ways if Gwyn might present the prisoner, Augus Each Uisge, to the Court, proof that if he was not to be slaughtered, he could at least be cowed. And Gwyn had masked his horror at her request, swallowed down his revulsion when the other fae crowed in agreement, and simply nodded.

‘That can be easily arranged, mother.’

And that would have been the end of it – bad enough certainly – except that Gulvi had listeners everywhere, and within six hours Gulvi had requested a formal audience, and asked that she and Ash be received into the Seelie Court for this presentation of a cowed and beaten Augus.

‘You want his brother there,’ Gwyn said flatly.

‘I spend hours with my sister every day. She cannot hunt. She cannot feed herself. She cannot fly. She cannot preen. She cannot even be considered a shadow of her formal self, because, darling, her very self has wasted to shreds. She will likely never change out of her animal form again. Ash will not like it, but I think he should see his brother alive and as well as you are keeping him. And I...I _need_ to see this, Gwyn. For you cannot kill him. As we both understand. Although, la, accidents happen, do they not?’

‘You will control yourself within my Court,’ Gwyn said, and Gulvi smiled sweetly.

‘But of course, my dear, we are all royalty now, are we not? I would not take a step against you, with my remaining sister delivered back to me. I did not mean to imply that _I_ would create the accident, dear me, no. I was only suggesting that these fae Courts are dangerous places. Wouldn’t it be terrible if you were to-’

‘You will not come into this Court and tell me that I have made the wrong decision in how to keep my prisoners. Whether outright or covertly, Gulvi. You and Ash are permitted to bear witness to Augus’ captivity, but that is all.’

‘And is he keeping well? The fox in the hen-house?’ Gulvi said, and Gwyn frowned.

Augus was keeping very well indeed. He had free access to water. He was no longer living within a prison cell. For all that Gwyn had inflicted himself upon him, Augus was likely doing far better than anyone could have expected. Far better than anyone felt he deserved. Anyone, that was, except for Gwyn, and likely Ash. The strangeness of that fact was something that Gwyn was carefully not thinking about.

‘Ash will want him back within the Unseelie Court,’ Gulvi said, abruptly.

‘I can categorically assure you that is _not_ what will be happening. And if Ash kicks up a fuss about it amongst the Seelie fae, he will be quickly disabused of that notion, and I will remove you both. Everyone knows that the Unseelie look after their own, I can just imagine the sort of leniency Ash would show his brother.’

‘Is it anything like the leniency you showed, when you allowed that intolerable creature to live?’ Gulvi said, eyes narrowing.

‘Don’t play your games with me, Gulvi. I taught you half of what you know.’

Gulvi leaned forwards, her mouth shaping around a comeback, and then in a move that Gwyn had grown familiar with, she closed her eyes briefly and shook her head, once, sharply.

‘And it is so,’ she said. ‘This display, are you sure he will be cowed? It is, after all, _Augus_. What if he tries to escape?’

‘He may _try_ ,’ Gwyn said, unable to even summon a cold smile for emphasis. But whatever his expression conveyed must have been more disturbing, for Gulvi subsided. Her energy became less prickly at once. She sighed.

‘I dream of how I would kill him, often,’ Gulvi said, looking up, dark eyes glittering. ‘You cannot imagine, but this is the way it is. The only reason I have not tried is that you found my Julvia. It is a debt I cannot repay, and one that I do not wish to add to.’

Gwyn nodded carefully and then tilted his head.

‘It’s gotten to you quickly, hasn’t it? The politics of it? You’re beginning to talk like a Queen now.’

‘La, it is so _fucking_ tedious, Gwyn!’ Gulvi exclaimed. ‘One minute I am speaking as I always have, and the next it is verbal _contracts,_ attending meetings. These creatures cannot look after themselves! In lieu of their mothers and fathers or whatever may have spewed them into the world, they use us instead. No?’

‘It seems that way.’

‘Yes, it does. And no Wild Hunts recently? I was sad to have not gotten a chance to ride alongside you. I cannot remember the last time you refused the Call.’

Gwyn felt an uncomfortable lump in his throat but refused to clear it. Gulvi noticed everything, and for all that he was confident in his abilities to outwit her, it didn’t do to hand her fuel by acting as though he’d cancelled it for any reason other than commitments.

‘I, too, regret missing it,’ Gwyn lied, ‘I thought I was making the right decision at the time, but rest assured I will be there for the next.’

‘There is no Wild Hunt without you. None of the other fae will take it up, commanding that energy for the evening.’

_Except Augus, once upon a time. And the Raven Prince, before him._

Gwyn didn’t know how he’d manage the next one. Memories of his own impromptu ‘hunt’ laced through him like rough rope. But he’d have to. Many of the battle-hungry fae needed it, and it was a good way of ensuring inter-Court cooperation.

‘You are Queen now,’ Gwyn said quietly. ‘Have you ever considered taking it up?’

Gulvi’s eyes widened, genuinely shocked.

‘You could,’ Gwyn continued. ‘I do not mean take over, of course. But perhaps you would like to lead the Hunt, one day?’

Gulvi shook her head at him, horrified. Gwyn frowned. He thought he’d done the right thing, offering it. After all, he couldn’t keep it up forever. Those at the helm of the Wild Hunt were supposed to change after a period of time. He’d been conducting the Hunt on his own for a long time now.

‘Gwyn, I am not interested in these things. I want the Hunt to be fun and fun only. I need it more than ever, now that I have a Court, a Kingdom. Alas, I am not ungrateful.’

‘Here we are, back to Courtspeak,’ Gwyn said, and Gulvi’s lips thinned.

‘Darling, would you have preferred if I just told you to go fuck yourself? I’m sure Ash will do that plenty for both of us.’

‘Ah,’ Gwyn said, blinking, and Gulvi smiled wickedly.

‘Watch your back around him, dear one. He will not try anything in your Court, but just as I have imagined the ways I would put down that waterhorse, so I am sure that Ash has imagined what you might look with your guts hanging out.’

_Fantastic. He has a great deal in common with Augus, obviously._

‘I did what I had to do,’ Gwyn said, and Gulvi laughed, standing.

‘No one is denying _that,_ Seelie King. You have even the respect of many of the Unseelie Court for doing what you did, though I doubt you care one whit about what they think of you. Still, you cannot save a Kingdom without making an enemy or two, no?’

‘No,’ Gwyn said, because that was true enough. Gwyn’s enemies were innumerable. Granted, he could deal with them all – or at least, had been able to thus far. Every enemy except himself, which was another matter he was carefully avoiding thinking about.

They continued to converse for a short time. Gulvi asked for advice on an Unseelie Court matter, and Gwyn offered what he could. After that, she left, and he promised to send a messenger to let her know when the display of Augus would be.

It would have to be soon, because it was not something he wanted dragged out. A short time ago, it would have been something he might have looked forward to, but now he wanted space from his own cruel streak, and this public display was not the way to go about it. Many of the fae could be cruel, some intentionally, some unintentionally. It was a normal part of what it was to be fae amongst so many of them – the acceptance of cruelty, making room for it in the lore. But, for all that it was a liberal wash through him, he hated it. He wanted – for the most part – nothing to do with it.

Gwyn stepped back from the mossy wall and rubbed at his forehead, before seeking out Augus.

Once he put his mind to it, Augus was easy to find. Tracking was one of Gwyn’s skills, practiced for so long that it was well-ingrained and unconscious. It was easy enough to focus and find the scent of him, an odd combination of silt and clear water. And from there, he found himself wandering into a corner of his own palace that he didn’t often visit. It was a more formal space that he was comfortable with, because he thought it was what his parents might expect of him, but his parents never visited the inner circles of his palace, not even when his father had still been alive, and so he’d decided never to use the rooms.

He stepped from mossy floor to floorboards, and wandered down a long, panelled corridor. Arched stained glass windows let in a muted light which lent the hall a dim, melancholy air.

At the end, in a small chamber lined with bookshelves filled with books, Augus sat waiting for him. Gwyn hadn’t tried to hide his footsteps, so Augus must have known he was coming. He wore a deep green shirt and simple black trousers. His feet were bare. He looked...healthier. He must have been making liberal use of the lake. With the shirt covering his shoulder, Gwyn couldn’t tell if it had healed yet. His own injuries had healed some time ago, but then, he had his Kingship to thank for that.

‘Should I strip?’ Augus said, arching an eyebrow. Gwyn shook his head.

It shouldn’t disturb him that it was the very first thing that Augus asked him, it _shouldn’t,_ because that was the precedent Gwyn himself had set. Wasn’t it? When had he ever visited Augus within the Seelie Court, since his imprisonment, for anything else other than carnality?

‘No?’ Augus said,  ‘Am I to be going back down to the cell?’

Gwyn cleared his throat, shook his head again, and Augus leaned back in his chair. He looked mildly amused.

‘This will be good then.’

Gwyn looked around the room. There was nowhere else to sit.

‘A public display has been requested,’ Gwyn said, more curtly than he’d intended. ‘I think you should appear in your waterhorse form. It may make it easier.’

‘I’m more powerful in my waterhorse form,’ Augus said, eyes narrowing. ‘Who am I meant to be making this easier for, exactly?’

Gwyn didn’t bother answering that. If Augus couldn’t figure it out for himself, Gwyn didn’t want to make the reply explicit.

‘The request was a formal one put forward in open Court. It must be heeded. And if you do not appear appropriately cowed, there will be consequences.’

Augus grimaced.

‘Oh yes, I understand. I held enough displays of my own, while I was King.’

Gwyn nodded and kept his mouth shut. Augus narrowed his eyes, his dark, thick lashes turned his green irises to a sliver.

‘And who put forward this formal request?’

Gwyn’s teeth ground together.

‘Creille of-’

‘You could just say: ‘My mother,’’ Augus said, standing up and watching Gwyn with a considering look on his face. It was as Augus stood that Gwyn saw the residual stiffness in his movements. Gwyn had spent too long learning the musculature of different fae, too long looking for weaknesses in bodies, in armour, to miss when something was wrong.

‘You haven’t healed,’  Gwyn said, and Augus blinked at him.

‘I’m underfae, it will take time,’ Augus said. ‘What did you expect? I am, in all actuality, healing rather fast. I was quite injured.’

‘Show me,’ Gwyn said, his heart-rate picking up. Augus frowned at him, and then seemed to think it wasn’t a matter worth fighting. He indicated his own shoulder, and Gwyn realised that Augus wanted him to expose the wound himself.

Gwyn stepped forward awkwardly, nostrils flaring for the scent of infection. He couldn’t pick it up, thankfully, and he raised his hands up uncertainly, drawing aside the top of Augus’ shirt. Augus stood quietly and didn’t protest, didn’t resist. He watched Gwyn calmly, as though this was something they did all the time. As though they hadn’t been avoiding each other for weeks.

Gwyn slid back the thin, fine material until he could see where he had pushed the arrow into Augus’ flesh. It was both better and worse than he expected. It clearly was healing, having scabbed over healthily, showing only minimal bruising. But worse too. It had been a surprisingly deep wound, given how it had been inflicted, and to see evidence of that in the stiffness of Augus’ shoulder was a burden he didn’t want, couldn’t bear to look at. He hurriedly slid the shirt back into place and took several steps away.

‘I’ll be chained, I expect,’ Augus said crisply, changing the subject. ‘Collared and chained. Led around the Court? How do the fae on your side of the fence do it? What, do tell, is the Seelie version of displaying a prisoner?’

‘Collar, chain, led around the Court. A period of time where you must wait by the throne, on your knees. That is all.’

‘Yes,’ Augus said, one side of his mouth turning up in a humourless smile. ‘That is familiar.’

‘You will have to obey promptly,’ Gwyn added. ‘People will be expecting subtle rebellions from you. They will look for any and all excuses to increase the strength of their petitions to see you dead.’

‘And you get many petitions for my death, do you?’ Augus said. Gwyn couldn’t pick the tone of his voice.

‘Not as many now,’ Gwyn said. ‘Maybe three, four a week.’

Augus raised his eyebrows, though whether he was surprised that it was so little, or so many, Gwyn couldn’t tell. It was then that Gwyn noticed that Augus looked tired. It was strange to see, because he hadn’t looked quite so tired down in the cell. But here, and healthier, Gwyn thought he could see signs that Augus wasn’t sleeping. His brow furrowed. He didn’t understand.

‘You do realise that your life would be made a great deal easier if you simply did kill me?’ Augus said, and Gwyn nodded.

‘Yes, I’m aware.’

‘And so...’ Augus said, as though Gwyn was a puzzle he couldn’t quite work out, ‘You simply like your life being difficult?’

‘In my dealings with Ash, I promised you would not be killed.’

Augus’ face went carefully blank, as it often did at the mention of his brother. Gwyn was glad for the excuse. The fact was that at the time, he simply hadn’t wanted to kill Augus. It was not something he – for the most part – enjoyed doing, as long as he wasn’t on a battlefield. When he was away from the madness that lurked inside of him, he hadn’t even wanted Augus killed when Augus was at his worst; removing fae from their homes and killing them indirectly, torturing and tormenting others, imprisoning those who would not listen to him. Execution was one responsibility that he couldn’t get his head around. If he was off a battlefield, he could not do it, had never put himself in positions where he would be expected to...not until now. Being obligated to constantly explain his decision to every fae that requested an audience with him was wearing.

Gwyn was also glad for the fact that in mentioning Augus’ brother, Augus didn’t mention that Gwyn could have easily killed him during the hunt if Augus hadn’t come up with that disturbingly effective way of snapping Gwyn out of the place he’d been in his mind.

‘Was it easy?’ Augus said suddenly, and then his face twisted. ‘No, never mind.’

‘Was what easy?’

‘I find I can’t remember what I was going to say,’ Augus lied. He lifted his shoulders into a shrug and then aborted the movement quickly, carefully lowering them again. Gwyn felt a twinge of response in his own shoulder. He’d sustained injuries when he’d been Outer Court, and those that were serious did often take at least a few days to heal. Shoulder injuries caused referred pain in the neck, the head, the back, the opposite shoulder; they persisted.

‘Are you ill?’ Gwyn said, and Augus stared at him.

‘Excuse me?’

‘You don’t seem...very much like yourself.’

Augus smirked.

‘Gwyn, for you to know that, you would have to have some grasp of who I am, and you don’t.’

It wasn’t even intended as an insult. Gwyn thought he could tell the difference now. This was just a bald statement of fact, but it jarred Gwyn to hear it. He could certainly accept that he hadn’t seen Augus being himself since being a prisoner, that was only natural. And of course, when he’d visited all that time ago, he was more a client than someone who had any right to see Augus’ relaxed, every day personality.

But he had thought that, when they’d commanded the Wild Hunt together, maybe...

‘I’m not _ill,’_ Augus continued. ‘I’ve just been informed by my captor that I shall be paraded in front of his crowing Court, who all want me very dead. I’m sure you think that I just blithely accept all that comes my way, but I assure you, this is something I am not looking forward to.’

_Me either._

‘Will you change form?’ Gwyn said, and Augus frowned.

‘They won’t like it. They will want to see my expressions, this _face._ They will not want to see a-’

‘It’s not up to them. I’m not asking them what they want to see. Will you change form?’

Augus nodded after a long hesitation.

‘You do understand what is at stake here, don’t you?’ Gwyn said, and Augus’ lips slanted into a frown.

‘Of course I do.’

Gwyn ran a hand through his hair. They both understood that if Augus couldn’t play along satisfactorily, it would become harder and harder to make excuses for him, to explain why he was being kept alive. It wasn’t just for Gwyn’s benefit that Augus needed to play the game well this time. It was for his own.

‘I will organise it, then, and-’

‘Gwyn,’ Augus said sharply. ‘Are _you_ ill?’

‘What?’ Gwyn said, confused. ‘Why...would you think that?’

‘Three weeks ago you would have been enjoying this.’

Gwyn couldn’t think of a response to that. Couldn’t deny it, because it was true. Couldn’t agree, because he didn’t want to acknowledge that reality. Couldn’t say that things had changed because he hardly knew why they had, or what was happening in his life. He just wanted to get the display out of the way and go back to trying to piece his life back together again. There were times when he felt as though something was too broken, too deeply inside of him, that he could never put it back together again. Usually that reality was easy enough to ignore, but lately it had been a glaring series of rifts and cracks inside of him, all of them spilling the light that so many others loved or admired.

He loathed it.

‘I will return,’ Gwyn said, skin crawling. He turned and left the sitting room, made his way back down the hall without a second glance. The next time he saw Augus again, it would be with a collar, a chain, and a night neither of them were likely to forget in a hurry.

*

Gwyn half-hoped that Augus wouldn’t be there when he returned a week later. Of course that would raise more problems than solutions, but there was still that moment when Gwyn hoped the problem of the display would just disappear. But Augus was standing, waiting in the area of Gwyn’s palace that felt so unlike Gwyn that he had already started thinking of them as Augus’ rooms.

Augus’ eyes were drawn immediately to the silvery collar and chain.

‘They’re too small,’ Augus said.

‘They’re enchanted to enlarge or shrink depending on how you appear. They’re designed for shapeshifters,’ Gwyn said abruptly. He held up the collar. It was a simple metal band, a magicked bronze, lacking decoration of any kind.

Augus’ mouth tightened. The fingers of his right hand twitched. Otherwise, he appeared perfectly calm. But Gwyn was getting better at reading Augus, better at knowing when he was the opposite of how he appeared.

Things weren’t faring much better in the Court proper, either. Gulvi and Ash had arrived, thankfully without too much fuss from the Seelie Court (proof – Gwyn thought – that Gulvi and Ash were perfect diplomatic figures for the Unseelie Court at this time); but it was clear that Ash wasn’t quite himself. And when Gwyn enquired about it, Gulvi took him aside and shook her head.

‘He is drugged.’

‘Please tell me you’re joking,’ Gwyn said, darkly.

‘He must see his brother, but I do not trust him to let this go, no? It is for the best. He is here. He will remember. He will see that Augus is alive. He cannot react truly.’

Gwyn looked over at Ash, who was standing and staring blankly at what looked like a chair leg, or a point past the chair leg.

‘People will expect Ash to be his usual self,’ Gwyn said, angry, and Gulvi laughed at him.

‘No, this is one thing you do not understand, Gwyn. _Family._ People will expect him to be in mourning. Unlike you, we do not snap out of these losses so quickly or easily.’

Gwyn grimaced when he realised that Gulvi was right. His own stress about the situation had clouded his vision. The only time stress actually worked in his favour was on a battlefield. But if he was stressed during these sorts of political events, he lost sight of the bigger picture. He sighed and nodded abruptly, but the situation still made him deeply uneasy. Seeing Ash numbed and deadened like that, wondering what Gulvi had given him, didn’t make him feel any better about finding the enchanted collar and chain in the first place and wandering down to find Augus.

Just as Augus had indicated that Gwyn should check Augus’ shoulder wound for himself, so he eventually made a gesture that Gwyn should put the collar on himself.

Gwyn stepped forwards and paused, staring down at the metal in his hands.

‘Large crowd?’ Augus said, and Gwyn’s eyes flickered up to that piercing, green gaze.

‘Large enough.’

Augus nodded calmly, and then he tensed without warning and stepped backwards, staring at the collar with revulsion.

‘Augus...’ Gwyn said, trying to convince himself that he sounded threatening, not helpless.

‘Oh, I know,’ Augus said, laughing faintly. ‘I can’t seem to help myself.’

‘Augus, I don’t want to force this upon you. But if I don’t bring you back, and soon, I-’

‘I _know,’_ Augus said, unable to tear his eyes away from the collar. ‘I _know.’_

Gwyn stepped forwards again, and Augus trembled now, visibly. He turned his face away, stared at a fixed point in the distance.

‘Do it quickly,’ Augus said, voice hoarse.

Gwyn did. He reached around with the collar and snapped it around Augus’ neck, even as Augus began to twist away. Once there, cold against his lukewarm skin, Augus’ hands came up and tugged on it, tugged again. Gwyn used Augus’ redirected focus as an opportunity to attach the chain to the back of his collar. He kept the end of the lead loosely in his hand.

Perhaps, under different circumstances, this could have been erotic. Gwyn doubted it. This was not one of his kinks, it never had been. He felt cold, but he tightened his grip around the chain all the same.

‘If I’m to shift, I want privacy,’ Augus said, stiffly. ‘Turn away.’

‘I- Yes,’ Gwyn said, letting go of the chain and walking several steps backwards, before turning and facing the wall. He was worried about putting his back to Augus, but he didn’t think Augus would try anything on this day – of all days. Gwyn had been vulnerable around Augus plenty of other times, and he didn’t think the day that the Seelie Court and the Co-King and Queen of the Unseelie Court were waiting for him, would be the day he staged his coup.

But he knew it would come, one day.

Gwyn felt his skin crawl when Augus shifted. It was an immense swell of power  that destabilised the very air in the room. Gwyn turned back, and the large, green-eyed waterhorse stared back at him. There was something cold and unutterably alien in those eyes; an expression he never saw on the face of Augus in his human-form. His coat was not as glossy as Gwyn remembered, but the last time he’d seen it, Augus had been at full health. His mane was more lank than usual, and the wound that Gwyn had made in his shoulder was now visible for everyone to see. Scabbed over, but larger and more significant.

_That might be for the best, for those who expect to see a visibly beaten Augus._

The collar had stretched around Augus’ thick neck, and the chain had lengthened. When Gwyn stepped forward to pick up the end that trailed on the floor, Augus bared sharp, jagged teeth at him. Gwyn startled, and Augus – the Each Uisge – laughed in that deep, terrible voice. A voice that reverberated through the room, drew its strength from more than just a single body.

Gwyn shook his head impatiently and took up the chain.

‘Well?’ Augus said, amused, awful. ‘Do you like it?’

‘Does your personality change, in horse-form?’ Gwyn said, shortening the length of the chain and wondering where he should teleport to.

‘It does,’ Augus said. ‘I _hunger,_ in this form.’

Gwyn took a slow and steady breath. That voice was not the soft, precise voice of Augus, but a thick, callous growl that resounded through the room.

‘You’d best not speak upstairs, in this form,’ Gwyn said, and Augus laughed, muzzle wrinkling in amusement.

‘Are you sure you want me in this form?’

‘You know why I asked for this,’ Gwyn said, frowning. ‘Don’t make me regret it.’

Augus swung his head sideways, swished his tail back and forth once.

‘There are so many things that I will make you regret, in the end.’

‘ _Augus,’_ Gwyn snapped, and Augus laughed.

_‘Each Uisge,’_ he replied, voice cracking on the consonants.

‘No,’ Gwyn said, pulling hard on the chain and forcing Augus into step in front of him. The chain was supernaturally strong, and though he could feel Augus resist it with a force that he likely couldn’t comprehend, the waterhorse had no choice but to follow. Though he followed with a growl. ‘You will be _Augus,_ up there. Are you done? Is this out of your system? If you can’t pretend to be a meek, tame waterhorse, change back into your human-form and let everyone see how much you enjoy the collar around your neck.’

The Each Uisge laughed deeply, with promise. Green eyes watched Gwyn coldly.

‘I’ve had you on your knees. I wonder what your organs taste like.’

Gwyn’s mouth thinned as Augus opened his maw and revealed row after row of sharp teeth, designed for ripping and shredding. He yanked hard on the chain and Augus snapped his mouth shut, eyes blazing.

‘Master yourself,’ Gwyn said, ‘Or I shall go upstairs and explain that you would not be tamed, and ask those present to witness your execution.’

Augus shuffled on his hooves and his ears flattened against his head, unhappily. But he kept his mouth shut, and didn’t say anything else.

Gwyn watched for another minute, but Augus stayed still, and Gwyn took a breath. It would have to do. He didn’t have time for anything better. And at the end of the day, he wasn’t the one who stood to lose his life over this. If Augus valued his life, he would keep himself under control.

Gwyn walked forwards and placed a hand on Augus’ neck, feeling a pelt less like horse hair and more like damp sealskin under his fingers. He teleported them both to the entrance of the throne room.

*

Augus did manage to comport himself well. As soon as Gwyn stepped forwards, hoping against all hope that Augus would play the game, Augus fell into step to his right, a little behind him, head lowered and ears forward, displaying himself as the meek and subdued waterhorse. Gwyn breathed an inaudible sigh of relief.

Gwyn did not say anything as he made the circuit around the throne room. He looked grimly at everyone who he passed, weighing their expressions, their judgements. Several fae quailed away from his gaze, and he realised that without his dra’ocht, he was coming across as far more grim than usual. In the end, he decided that was for the best.

They were almost to the throne itself when someone – one of the smaller fae, no doubt – threw a rock at Augus. It hit him square on the flank, gouged a wound into his skin. He started oozing his red blood with its distinctive oily sheen. Augus froze, nostrils flared, and everyone held their collective breath as Augus’ muscles bunched beneath his skin.

Gwyn made a quick decision. He couldn’t afford to attempt to expose the fae who had thrown the rock publically – not when everyone looked like they wanted to do the same, or worse. It was against fae law to attack another fae publically within a Court, _particularly_ a throne room; but these were extenuating circumstances. If he challenged the attacker, he would be doing the right thing, but he would look sympathetic to Augus. He had to keep Augus moving, and pretend that not only had he noticed, but that he condoned the action and would let it slide; that his sympathies were with his Court.

He pulled Augus along quietly, stared at the throne knowing that if he could just get there, get Augus laying beside him, this would be over soon enough.

Augus baulked once more, head flying up and eyes widening. He huffed out a deep breath of shock.

Gwyn – dreading that Augus was about to make a break for it – followed his line of sight and felt his insides turn cold.

_Ash._ Ash who was staring at Augus like he hardly recognised him, with a numb, indifferent expression on his face. And, Gwyn realised with horror, he’d forgotten to warn Augus that he’d even be there. It had simply flown out of his mind. Augus couldn’t tear his gaze away, his body shivering with recognition. Augus was attuned to his brother’s energy, and Gwyn realised that Augus was waiting for a response, for acknowledgement, for _something._

And he wasn’t going to get it, because Ash was drugged. Gulvi was staring spite at Augus next to him. Gwyn tugged hard on the chain and Augus stumbled into step behind him, more through the power of the chain and Gwyn’s strength combined, than anything else. His front hooves clattered against the hard, stone ground as he found his feet again, and then Augus continued along behind him as though nothing had happened.

Gwyn expected Augus to keep staring at Ash, but Augus’ head didn’t swing around again. He looked at nothing in particular as Gwyn sat down in his accursed throne. Augus folded his legs weakly beneath himself, lay down on the thin rug provided, and bowed his head until his muzzle was almost touching the stone. He closed his eyes. He laid his ears back.

Gwyn kept his expression neutral, but there was something in Augus’ body language that disturbed him. His eyes sought out Ash’s numb expression, then Gulvi’s.

Gulvi only smiled sharply at Augus, appreciation for seeing him so cowed. Gwyn couldn’t begrudge her that. She’d lost more than he could ever fully understand, and he knew a little of loss, how it changed someone. But still, he’d never felt more aware of how alien he was within his own Court. He didn’t enjoy things like this. Even with his cruel streak, even with the ‘family curse,’ he just didn’t enjoy these things. His upbringing made him more perfectly suited for these public displays than anyone could ever know, and yet...

Gwyn forced his features to adopt an expression of cruel amusement as he stared out into the crowd. It wasn’t hard. He only had to think about how he felt about the irony that he was doing this to Augus, when he felt utterly trapped, and the smirk came. He was pathetic.

The fae mingled amongst themselves. Almost no one came up to Gwyn. Several fae passed closer, like they wanted to, but either Gwyn’s expression was truly forbidding, or Augus’ reputation was such that even cowed and chained and presenting himself as subdued as possible kept people away. Maybe it was the combination; Gwyn imagined that seeing the ex-King of the Unseelie fae beaten by the King of the Seelie fae was probably daunting.

His mother came up though. She kneeled at his feet in a way that was all about poise and perfect posture, and not at all about actually prostrating herself before the King.

She straightened without his permission, didn’t look at Augus once.

‘It seems you have tamed him, after all.’

‘Then there was doubt,’ Gwyn said, stiffly.

‘But of course, son. You have never dealt with prisoners of this nature before. It was only natural that there should be doubt.’

Gwyn’s expression was neutral now, it had to be. His mother followed the gossip that best positioned her in the Courts, she was _dangerous._ Appearance mattered more to her than anything, and if there were rumours that Gwyn couldn’t manage Augus – Gwyn laughed at himself, _wherever_ did they get that impression? – then she would align herself with those. Perhaps she even started them, seeding conversations about her weaker son, the one who was ‘such an able warrior but not so perfectly suited for Kingship.’

Gwyn knew then, with chilling certainty, that she had likely organised the attack on Augus during the display. If Augus had reacted in any other way; if he had charged or fled or even growled at the injury, the petition for his death would be official, witnessed, and Gwyn would have to heed, or lose the faith of his supporters.

Now she couldn’t request execution without looking as though she didn’t appreciate Gwyn’s methods, and Gwyn had _clearly,_ from this display, done a more than satisfactory job.

_I daresay that’s a point to me, mother._

‘Look at him,’ Gwyn said, rubbing it in, he couldn’t help himself. ‘Let that dispel your doubt.’

Gwyn’s mother shrewdly narrowed her eyes at him, then she directed her perfect blue gaze, unusually azure, over to Augus for the barest of seconds. His mother was blonde haired and blue-eyed like he was. He had received her curly hair, her paleness. His angular face and body came from his father. His voice too. But Gwyn wasn’t like her, he wasn’t perfectly put together. His eyes were paler than usual for the family blue. His hair didn’t do anything it was supposed to do, ever. His body felt too large, too awkward; he had never quite grown out of a clumsy adolescence, even though he wasn’t actually clumsy.

Not often, anyway.

Sitting in front of her, in a throne he hated and avoided, he didn’t feel like a King.

He felt like looking over her shoulder to see if his father was going to enter the throne room with that sour, unhappy look on his face. But no, father was dead.

‘Of course,’ Gwyn’s mother said smoothly. ‘But how could anyone doubt your abilities now?’

_I’m sure you’ll find a way, mother._

The look she gave him made his mouth dry. The snakes in his Court were, more often than not, his family. His mother had allies; those who envied her status, her looks, her poise, the family name, the generations of Seelie that his family had thrown and all of them respected within the Court. Every one of those allies, right now, would likely be studying Augus closely, looking for a sign of rebellion. Gwyn was grateful they wouldn’t find one. Augus was  being more well-behaved than Gwyn could have dreamed possible. He hadn’t imagined, when the waterhorse-form had first stepped forwards, that Augus could be like this.

And later, he decided, he could reward himself by spending time with Augus. He could relieve his own stress, he could-

Gwyn blinked and swallowed, revulsion creeping up through him on cold fingers, pressing tacky, direct prints into his lungs. It passed in a wave, and he exhaled through his nose carefully. He _couldn’t_. Augus was his prisoner and he still couldn’t. The hunt had changed everything. He didn’t want...

He didn’t want _that._

Gwyn sighed and settled himself into the throne, hoping the next two hours passed quickly.

*

Augus remained meek as Gwyn lead him back to his rooms. He refused to change back into human-form even when they were well away from the throne-room and safely back within Gwyn’s palatial rooms. That was when Gwyn realised – belatedly – that something was _wrong._ He knew that if he’d trusted his instincts, been more focused, he would have started keeping a sharper eye on Augus earlier. But his own mind had been so scattered of late, he was missing crucial things. He was missing too much.

Once back in Augus’ rooms, he hurriedly took off the collar, placed it onto a clean desk. He stared at Augus, who was not watching him, but had his head low to the ground already, ears drooping.

‘Augus, change back,’ Gwyn said, stepping away and turning around.

An abrupt energy shift, and Gwyn turned back. He stilled.

Augus wasn’t standing. Didn’t look poised. He was kneeling on the floor, shoulders bowed. Gwyn could still smell the blood from the wound that had been inflicted upon him within his throne-room, an act that even now filled Gwyn with a cold rage. From what Gwyn could see of his face, he had the same stare that he’d seen too many times during war. He was more than familiar with a thousand-yard stare.

Gwyn knelt in front of Augus, twisting so he could see Augus’ face better.

He’d done the wrong thing. He’d completely forgotten to tell Augus about Ash and Gulvi being there. And Ash’s reaction, or complete non-reaction had done damage. Augus had become unusually placid after that. Gwyn reached forwards and hooked his index finger under Augus’ chin, drawing his head up. Augus went with the motion without protest, his eyes stared right through Gwyn. It sent a chill down his spine.

‘It’s over,’ Gwyn said, knowing it for the lie that it was.

The display was over. Nothing else was. Augus was still his captive, his mother had the right to request another display in about a year. No doubt she would. And she could continue requesting them every year after, until a mistake was made and she could request Augus’ slaughter while using the event to undermine Gwyn’s Kingship.

‘Ash was there,’ Augus said quietly, his voice nothing like that of the waterhorse’s, not even like his usual voice. The words were...clumsy.

‘Yes,’ Gwyn said.

‘He didn’t...’

Augus’ vision cleared somewhat and he blinked Gwyn into focus, then jerked away, standing quickly.

‘I would like to go back to my cell,’ Augus said curtly, and Gwyn was shocked at the sudden change in his demeanour. At the words.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I would like to go back to my cell,’ Augus repeated, quieter now.

‘Augus, you-’

‘I think I will lose sight of something important, up here,’ Augus said, looking at Gwyn from underneath thick lashes, a strange, unusual vulnerability in his eyes. But Gwyn could read the sureness too. Augus wanted to go back. He wanted to give up the lake, the new rooms, the ability to order clothing, _everything._

Gwyn wanted to feel indignant, he wanted to feel frustrated at Augus’ lack of gratitude.

Instead he reached forwards and placed his hand on Augus’ shoulder, and pulled them both into the cell.

Once there, Augus looked around and then sat down on the tree root he usually inhabited when Gwyn visited. His gaze went empty again, his mouth set in a slight frown. His hands were folded limply in his lap. He looked exhausted.

_No,_ Gwyn realised, _he looks...sad._

‘You need some rest,’ Gwyn said. ‘After that...I’m not sure you should stay down here.’

He needed to go back upstairs, he was only supposed to be dropping Augus back before going to the throne-room again. They would be expecting him. He didn’t have the time or skill to figure this out. He wasn’t like Augus, he couldn’t see into the heart of a matter during occasions like this. He couldn’t fix this. Ash drugged upstairs, Augus downstairs looking like he’d taken too many hard hits to the head.

‘It’s been a long day, Augus. I’ll be back soon enough to check on you, okay?’

Augus didn’t respond, and Gwyn had to leave. He swallowed down bile and forced himself back to the Court where the others were waiting to commend him on a job well done. He felt more and more like he didn’t belong in any part of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, 'Abandoned:' 
> 
> ‘I’m so tired, Gwyn,’ Augus said. ‘What do you make of that?’


	11. Abandoned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so happy to announce that the tags for this chapter are:
> 
> Hurt/Comfort and Comfort
> 
> *
> 
> WHEE! :D Well, that makes me happy anyway. Thank you so so much for your comments. You guys are RAD. The raddest. Also for the subscribers and bookmarkers and kudosers. You guys are also rad. :D

Gwyn transported immediately back to the cell as soon as he was able, which was unfortunately several hours later. People wanted to gloat, they wanted to congratulate him on his _victory,_ they wanted to share drinks with him, they wanted to celebrate. Twice, Gwyn had to excuse himself to be physically ill, forcing himself back and thankful that his revulsion with the whole event came across as a fierceness that the others seemed to glory in, provided they didn’t get too close to it.

Gulvi and Ash didn’t stay, but for the half an hour they remained, Gwyn couldn’t take his eyes away from Ash; numbed and artificially deadened to his environment. What would he remember? Gwyn would never admit it to Augus, but it bothered him that using Ash in the way he had was the only way he knew how to defeat Augus. In the end, it was the only pathway left. He dealt with it by telling himself that Ash was only one piece of a machine that would get the outcome he needed, he dealt with it by reminding himself that Ash shouldn’t have gotten himself involved, that he was stupid, that he was absurdly loyal to someone who hadn’t earned that loyalty...

But it bothered him.

He left about one hour after Crielle did. It was the longest he could stand amongst the gossip, and everyone was surprised he had stayed so long anyway. He had never been more glad for establishing a reputation for being reclusive and disliking social events. It meant that he could exit without having to explain himself. He walked out and closed the huge double doors behind him, leaving everyone else to talk about the inane things they wanted to talk about. Likely, as soon as he left, the conversation would turn to how they still thought Augus should be killed. Few people openly expressed disagreement with his keeping Augus alive, but many fae had requested private audience and asked that Augus be put down.

It was a complicated situation. There hadn’t been an Unseelie fae in the Seelie prisons for such a long time, that a lot of them weren’t able to forget about him. There was a novelty factor that kept it fresh in their minds.

Never mind that Augus technically didn’t have to stay in the cell anymore. They weren’t to know.

Gwyn desperately wanted to change his clothing. He’d cold sweated through all of it. But he didn’t want to leave Augus alone any longer. After weeks of not knowing what to do about Augus, there were only two certainties left. The first, he couldn’t kill him. The second, he couldn’t keep him in the cells anymore. He had tried railing against it, tried reducing Augus to nothing more than an object, tried everything to unmake what his mind had decided, and only ended up driving himself to madness in the process.

The worst part, that he could still feel it, a clamouring drone of madness and cruelty in the back of his mind. It made him unstable, off kilter. He knew it wasn’t gone. It wasn’t like last time, when Augus had managed to push it far enough down that Gwyn felt like he could breathe again. No, this was centuries later, and Gwyn didn’t know how to shove it back again now that it had come up so far. All he could do was distract himself, keep himself busy, keep his light down. But a darkness bubbled inside of him, etched frantic, hungry pathways in his head. He wanted to be unleashed in battle, to not stop until he had killed so many people his gloves were too slippery to hold his sword, only to wipe them clean and start again.

Gwyn raked a hand through his hair and stared loathing at the throne room doors, before teleporting directly into Augus’ cell.

Augus hadn’t moved. He stared blankly into space, hands curled limply in his lap and the odour of blood still in the cell.

Gwyn looked at him, felt a moment of panic. What was it that Augus had said once? That he could become catatonic without access to words, without the ability to speak. Augus had his voice removed in the throne room. He could speak, certainly, but the risk would have been certain death for his rebellion. It was – Gwyn thought – the same as being gagged outright.

Gwyn stepped forwards and grasped Augus firmly by the upper arms. Augus didn’t respond, didn’t blink, stared through Gwyn into nothingness. He was so deep inside of himself that Gwyn didn’t know how to begin to get him back again.

He teleported them out of the cell. Augus said he would lose sight of something important up in the palatial rooms, but whatever he was worried about, being catatonic down in the cell wasn’t an improvement.

Gwyn shifted them both into his own room, lifting Augus automatically and placing him on the bed, up against the headboard.

Still, that stare, an emptiness in his eyes.

Gwyn stepped back and stared at him. His hands flexed uselessly at his side. This was a situation where he should get a healer, except he couldn’t. What healers were there, who would help Augus? Who would understand why Augus was aboveground and not in the prison? It was a situation where he didn’t know if Augus needed time, attention, a good shake. He just didn’t _know._

‘Augus?’ Gwyn said, tentative.

Augus didn’t respond. Gwyn hadn’t expected him to.

Gwyn stared at Augus, worried. He scratched at his shirt, desperately wanted to shed his clothing, to get the night _off_ himself. He walked over to his closet, throwing a look over his shoulder to make sure Augus was still the same – he was – and pulled a fresh shirt and pants out of it. He changed hurriedly, keeping an eye on Augus the entire time, but Augus didn’t react.

He looked around his room, then grimaced.

‘Augus, I’m just going to get you some water. I’ll be back soon.’

Gwyn teleported out of the room directly into the kitchens. The trows didn’t seem surprised to see him at all, knowing that he hated social events as much as they hated being seen too often by other fae. They shyly pushed a stew towards him, and his stomach turned over. He was certain it was delicious – everything they made was, but he couldn’t bear the thought of eating anything.

‘Thank you but not now,’ Gwyn said, voice tight. ‘Some water. A jug and a glass.’

The trows returned with it quickly, and Gwyn nodded at them in acknowledgement, and then teleported straight back to his room again.

Augus still hadn’t moved.

Gwyn placed the glass down, poured the fresh, sweet water into it, and then left it. He stood by his bed, but it felt awkward to stand over Augus like this. He walked over to the other side of the bed and got onto it, watching Augus as he did so.

Gwyn felt deeply uneasy. A part of him – not as small as he wanted it to be – crowed triumph, triumph, _triumph._ It scented victory, it told him that he’d won, that he’d _broken_ him, told him to drop Augus in a cell and leave him there to waste away. Gwyn’s lips thinned, he squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his head to the bed. He didn’t know how to get rid of it, couldn’t even suppress it properly anymore. He wanted to carve it out of himself. That it was happening now, when Augus was like _this,_ it disgusted him.

And another voice, a darker, older voice, reminding him that he’d done this. That this was his fault. That he was the one who had created this situation and that-

Gwyn’s teeth ground together. He focused on drills. He focused on old battle strategies. He forced his mind to words of study that he’d memorised. They were the only things that kept all the voices at bay. That let him focus on the present.

Gwyn sat cross-legged next to Augus, facing him. He watched him carefully.

‘Augus,’ Gwyn said, ‘I don’t know what to do.’

Gwyn laughed at himself. The wrong person to appeal to for help, possibly _ever,_ was Augus. The catatonia was just another reason why that was a bad idea.

‘I didn’t want to do that,’ Gwyn continued, keeping his voice soft. He thought of how he coaxed wild animals out of the forest, thought of the way he talked to the hounds of the Wild Hunt, but that only reminded him of what he’d recently done to Augus, the _hunt,_ and he made a choked off sound in the back of his throat.

‘I’ll try and find a way to make sure it doesn’t happen again,’ Gwyn said. ‘If you must know, I find these sorts of things deeply unpleasant. I’ve never held a display before, though I have been present at some held by the Oak King. They are barbaric. I suppose you might find it odd then, that I have that opinion that they are terrible...’

Gwyn placed his head in his hands and tangled his fingers through his hair, pulling hard.

‘That fae who hurt you, it shouldn’t have happened. It’s not only disrespectful to you, but to me as well. Crielle...’

Gwyn stared down at the blankets on his bed. He looked up at Augus. His hands dropped back to the bed. Augus looked fragile. He looked exhausted. It was easier to remember – now more than ever – that Augus had been tormented by the Nightmare King. That, before the time he’d spent with that vessel of living shadows, he’d been simply beloved by the Seelie and Unseelie Court. That he had a reputation for being good at what he did, for loving his brother unconditionally and faultlessly, for being profoundly private and possessing a catty, quick wit.

He’d meant to talk to Pitch about it, and instead he’d found Jack, only to come back and assault Augus again. He’d pushed aside his knowledge of this aspect of Augus, and refused to see anything other than a villain.

_That_ was ironic, given Gwyn’s own history, his own actions.

‘Augus,’ Gwyn said, leaning closer and looking at his pupils. Gwyn reached out and placed a hesitant hand on Augus’ leg, and Augus didn’t move, but his pupils shifted. A quick dilation and contraction. So he was catatonic, but still responsive, at least on some level.

Gwyn shifted closer, reached out to take Augus’ hand in his own and then paused at the last moment, face twisting. That was too familiar and...wrong somehow. He couldn’t do that. And he felt disgusted with himself that he wanted to. There were too many voices vying for dominance in his thoughts, and the ones that wanted Augus broken, that wanted constant victory, they wouldn’t allow the gesture.

Gwyn placed his other hand on Augus’ arm instead. He swallowed.

‘Augus, I don’t know if you can hear me. It’s over. It went well. No. It went, it had the desired outcome. They have no right to ask for another display for a considerable amount of time. And next time I’ll work something out. I do not have to take them seriously when they petition for your death. And as long as my behaviour seems rational to them, even if they dislike it, they cannot raise serious dissent. Crielle may try, but your behaviour was exceptional even in the face of...’

_Being attacked. Your brother being there._

Gwyn’s hand dropped from Augus’ arm. He placed his head in his hand.

‘Augus, I should have told you that Ash would be there. I...the only reason I can think that I didn’t, is perhaps to spare you from...’ Gwyn sighed. ‘He didn’t react because he was drugged. Because the only way Gulvi could get him into the Court at all, could get him to behave in a way that wouldn’t slight their reputations and therefore their positions, was to drug him. She told me herself.’

Augus inhaled audibly, and Gwyn’s head shot up. Augus was still staring ahead, but he looked more aware somehow. He looked like he was focusing on something in front of him, instead of staring out into nothingness.

‘She told me that Ash needed to see you for himself,’ Gwyn said, ‘That Ash needed to see you alive, and at least know that you were well. Augus, the circumstances aren’t ideal, but, you have to understand, you wouldn’t _stop._ You wouldn’t listen to anyone. No one wanted to believe that you were capable of what you were capable of, and no one knew how to stop you.’

Gwyn winced. He would not _apologise_ for capturing Augus and demoting him. He would _not._ Gwyn cleared his throat and cast his mind back through what he was trying to say, and found his focus again.

‘He hasn’t abandoned you, Augus,’ Gwyn said, hoping that he was right. He didn’t understand how this sort of love worked, he didn’t understand why Ash still cared about Augus. ‘He came to the display because it’s important that he know you’re alive. He didn’t come for any other reason except to make sure that you were okay. It wasn’t...Augus, he was _drugged._ That Gulvi did that, doesn’t that tell you how he feels about you being imprisoned here?’

Augus made a small, thin sound. Gwyn tightened his hand around Augus’ leg, but didn’t look up. He had no idea what he was talking about. He understood that Ash was distressed about seeing Augus imprisoned, he understood that familial bonds could be like that sometimes, but he was making assurances that felt so alien to him. This was not the sort of thing he normally said to anyone, let alone Augus. The fact that it was working made his chest hurt, and he didn’t know why.

‘He was drugged,’ Augus said, his voice hoarse, as though he was remembering how to speak again.

‘Gulvi told me herself that she was worried he would attempt to bargain for your return to the Unseelie Court if he weren’t. It would have resulted in both of them being ejected from the Court.’

‘At the least,’ Augus said, and Gwyn looked up at him.

Augus was still staring straight ahead, though his mouth was thinned now.

‘I thought I asked to be returned to the cell,’ Augus said, and Gwyn closed his eyes.

‘You said you would lose sight of something important up here, Augus, but with access to the lake, and clothing, and...Perhaps you lost sight of something important in the cell.’

‘I lost sight of what was important years and years ago,’ Augus said under his breath, and blinked slowly, swallowed as though it was painful. Gwyn withdrew his hand immediately, got up and walked around the bed, picking up the glass of water. He handed it to Augus without saying anything, and Augus took it without looking at him.

_There,_ Gwyn thought, as Augus sipped at the water until it was gone, _that came in handy. That’s something._

Gwyn took the empty glass back and poured more water into it, then left it nearby for Augus, now that he knew it was there. Gwyn walked back to the other side of the bed and got on carefully, folding his legs again. Augus was staring at his hands, folded over one another in his lap.

‘I’m so tired, Gwyn,’ Augus said. ‘What do you make of that?’

He sounded world-weary. Gwyn had no answers for him. He had a head that was too full, a body that felt itchy from sweating out the dread of wanting the display to go to well, of dealing with his mother’s cold, faithful cruelty.

‘Stay up here,’ Gwyn said, facing the blankets. ‘You-’

‘He looked tired, too,’ Augus said absently. ‘He doesn’t look like he’s been taking care of himself. Not that he ever...really does.’

Augus laughed softly, and then his breath hitched in his throat.

‘He looked unwell.’

‘He was _drugged,’_ Gwyn said, and Augus sighed.

‘It was more than that. He’s not made to be King. He’s...’ Augus took a single, sharp breath. ‘Do you think he misses me?’

Gwyn swallowed hard. He hadn’t known Augus was capable of sounding like that, he hadn’t _known._ His world shifted around him, and he squeezed his eyes shut, felt the weight of this new knowledge just another precarious burden that he couldn’t manage. One day, one day soon, everything he held in his head was going to fall apart, and no one would be there to help him pick up the pieces. Augus had taunted him about it. Augus was right.

‘He misses you,’ Gwyn said roughly. ‘He...’

Gwyn didn’t know how much he should say.

‘Continue,’ Augus said, and Gwyn could feel the weight of Augus’ eyes on the back of his head. He wanted to lift up, to make eye contact. He thought he should leave, now that Augus was no longer catatonic and could look after himself again. He thought he should leave, except Augus was in his room, and he’d have to teleport Augus out first.

‘Augus, Ash has not taken your captivity well,’ Gwyn said. ‘I don’t know much, only what Gulvi tells me.’

Gwyn didn’t say anything else, and Augus didn’t respond for a long time. So long, that Gwyn was worried Augus had slipped into catatonia again. He looked up, and Augus was watching Gwyn. He did look tired. There were shadows underneath the green of his eyes, a tautness to his mouth.

‘I should take you back to your rooms,’ Gwyn said, and Augus didn’t react, kept watching Gwyn with that same expression that made Gwyn uneasy.

‘My rooms,’ Augus said. ‘ _My_ rooms. It’s your palace. Your Court. You’re thinking of them as my rooms already?’

Gwyn had no sentences available to him. There was no response that felt safe.

‘I should make you feel sorry for me more often,’ Augus said, and Gwyn winced.

‘No,’ he disagreed. ‘You were not made to be pitied.’

‘No,’ Augus said. ‘I was not.’

An uneasy silence stretched out between them. Gwyn shifted further up the bed until his back was against the headboard. He pulled a roll of parchment out from underneath one of the pillows, where it had been sticking up uncomfortably, and tossed it off the side of the bed. He looked over at Augus and grimaced, now was probably not the time to tell him that he thought Augus’ centre was changing. He didn’t know what it was changing into, anyway. And Augus would realise soon enough, if he hadn’t already.

Augus was staring ahead again. Gwyn swallowed. What if the conversation wasn’t enough? Or, what if it made things worse? What if Augus really thought about how distraught Ash would have been, would _be,_ and-

Augus tensed when Gwyn’s hand curled around his upper arm, and Gwyn jerked it back. This wasn’t his strength. It had never been his strength. Augus turned to look at him in some surprise.

‘Are you...?’ Augus narrowed his eyes at him.

‘Am I...what?’ Gwyn said, and Augus watched him as though he didn’t understand what was going on. Gwyn supposed that was fair. He’d not treated Augus with any sort of care or consistency. And everyone knew that Gwyn was not a person one came to for comfort. Most people knew that you didn’t go to Gwyn at all, unless you needed him for something related to his Kingship, or a battle somewhere, or a war strategy.

Gwyn shifted uncomfortably on the bed.

‘Look at you,’ Augus said, one side of his mouth turning up. ‘You didn’t like any of this, did you? Not even a little? Where’d that cruel streak go? It’s still there somewhere.’

Gwyn grimaced. Augus seemed just _fine._

He pushed himself towards the side of the bed and Augus caught him by the wrist. His skin was cooler than normal, and he normally ran lukewarm. A sign that he was still not out of the woods yet, that his body hadn’t reached its normal equilibrium. The touch was a shock, and Gwyn looked down at it.

‘Why are you always running away from me?’ Augus said, amused. ‘You’ve left mid-conversation before. I ask you a question, and then you decide to run away.’

Augus’ hand tightened on his wrist. He shifted on the bed.

‘Where are we? Is this your room?’ It is, isn’t it? Why did you bring me here? Were you going to fuck me?’

Gwyn tugged his wrist from the cool circle of Augus’ hand. He sat on the edge of the bed, but didn’t stand up. After all, this was _his_ room. He couldn’t run away and leave Augus in it. He shouldn’t have brought him here in the first place. He had other places he slept or rested, but this was where he kept his clothing, his armour, his sword. It was more his room than any of the others.

‘You seem better,’ Gwyn said, ‘I will transport you back to your-’

Augus came over to him, and Gwyn’s skin crawled. Gwyn didn’t trust him, not at all. This was an Augus who had looked so darkly triumphant when he’d stabbed Gwyn in the gut with his _fingers –_ the force that must have taken – and this was an Augus who-

Augus’ fingers encircled his wrist again. Gwyn closed his eyes, glad that Augus couldn’t see his face. It was such a simple contact, but the fact of it was reassuring. What was he doing?

‘I’ll extend you a measure of trust,’ Augus said softly. ‘I will stay here in the palace. Though it’s not really a _palace_ so much as a network of rooms, but I will stay.’

_A measure of trust._

Gwyn resisted the urge to tug his hand out of Augus’.

‘I am quite surprised there’s no moss in here,’ Augus said to himself. ‘It’s almost pleasant. Did you get someone else to design it for you? Did you simply say; ‘I am a hunter, and I’d like it to look like it belongs to the awkward King of the Seelie Fae?’’

Gwyn shifted so that he could face Augus, but Augus was taking in the individual pieces of furniture. Finally, Augus looked at the bed itself, and then smirked.

‘You can tie someone up easily, with a bed like this.’

Augus’ hand tightened on Gwyn’s wrist, and he turned and looked back at him meaningfully. Gwyn glared at him.

‘Is this what you do when you’ve had a bad night? Catatonia followed by the need to reassert your dominance over someone? I assure you, it’s not going to be me.’

‘Tsk, it was just an observation,’ Augus said, and then the mischievous light dropped out of his eyes. His mood shifted. It was like light shifting over water. First one set of colours, than another, and ripples constantly, a shift that wasn’t so much like Gwyn’s deep-seated instability, but a natural ebb and flow.

‘A little while ago you were completely unresponsive,’ Gwyn said, and Augus’ fingers around Gwyn’s wrist stroked up his forearm. Gwyn resisted the urge to move his arm away. The touch was perturbing.

‘And now I’m not,’ Augus said.

‘I _know_ you’re not alright,’ Gwyn said, and Augus raised his eyebrows.

‘Then maybe you’re not _as_ stupid as I thought you were,’ Augus said, and Gwyn frowned at him. He reached out with his other hand, placed it on Augus’ arm. They both looked at it like it didn’t belong, but Gwyn didn’t remove it this time.

‘You did well.’

‘I _know_ I did,’ Augus snapped, turning a flinty, furious gaze to Gwyn. ‘I don’t need you to tell me that. Meanwhile, your mother is pure poison ivy, isn’t she? I’m curious to know, what is her version of a mother’s love? Is her mother’s milk cyanide? How long has she been working against you in your own Court?’

_Augus, she’s been working against me, my entire life._

‘She didn’t want me to be King,’ Gwyn said abruptly, and let go of Augus’ arm. This wasn’t working. He couldn’t comfort Augus. Apparently the only thing that seemed to make Augus feel any better was needling at Gwyn. He reached down to tug his wrist from Augus’ grip, but Augus reached down and encircled his other wrist with his fingers.

Gwyn froze. He hoped he looked affronted, or angry. Inside, however, something turbulent calmed to an uneasy stillness. Augus squeezed both of his wrists with a cautious, increasing pressure, and the settled turbulence became an emptiness in his mind. All the voices shut down, and Gwyn was left with nothing but an awareness of that pressure, beginning to ache now, binding him too tightly. Gwyn’s eyes flew open. He yanked both of his wrists back and glared at him.

‘Do you _mind?’_ Gwyn said, and Augus narrowed his eyes, looked calculating.

‘I’m just trying something. If you don’t like it, you can always toss me in the cell again.’

‘I’m not putting you down there again,’ Gwyn said, and Augus tilted his head.

‘I almost believe you mean that. But you change your mind, Gwyn. Onto more interesting subjects. Your mother didn’t want you to be King? I thought-’

‘I know what you thought,’ Gwyn said, glaring at him. ‘It’s what everyone thinks.’

After all, his parents made a good show of being proud of him, they talked about what an honour it was to have a Seelie King in the family after so many years of serving the Seelie Court so loyally. They talked about how it was a reward for raising Gwyn the way they did. They said all the right things. And everyone believed them, because they were ambitious. Because between Crielle’s centre of appearance and Lludd’s centre of ruthlessness, everyone simply assumed they’d both machinated Gwyn’s ascension to the throne.

‘Why, though? Not a good enough royal son? Did she, too, see you with your awkwardness and decide that didn’t look _good_ enough for the Court? She shouldn’t bother. The Oak King wasn’t much better. Just more jovial. Then again, _that_ isn’t hard with you, is it?’

Gwyn ground his teeth together, he’d had enough of this. He twisted and pushed Augus down to the bed, holding him there by the hand on his chest.

‘You try my patience,’ Gwyn said, and Augus blinked up at him, looking – unbelievably – like a picture of serenity. Gwyn didn’t buy it at all. Augus still, even underneath the tranquillity and amusement of his expression, looked _tired._ He couldn’t help but remember how faint and soft his voice had been when he’d said, ‘I’m so tired, Gwyn.’ He had a lot of reasons to be that way. If Augus ever completely returned to sanity again, he would realise his predicament, realise the weight of his actions. Augus might not ever feel sorry for what he’d done, but he would feel the constraint all the same.

It occurred to Gwyn that perhaps that’s what he was seeing now.

‘You saw your brother this evening,’ Gwyn said, reminding him, and something flickered in Augus’ expression. ‘You were collared, chained, paraded out in front of the vindictive masses, and that was more than enough on its own. And then you saw Ash.’

Augus went to push himself upright, his expression shuttering, and Gwyn shoved him back down towards the bed.

‘You slipped into catatonia. That was something you haven’t done yet, even in the cell. Even when that gag was on you for a week.’

‘The catatonia lasted only for a few hours,’ Augus said, and Gwyn frowned.

‘That’s a short amount of time for you, is it? A few hours? That implies that you’re used to experiencing it for far longer. Is that-’

‘Don’t,’ Augus said, swallowing. ‘Don’t talk about that too.’

Augus looked truly disturbed, all signs of his previous, playful expression gone. Gwyn frowned at him, curled his fingers gently down Augus’ chest. He wouldn’t bring it up. The more he found out, the more he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what that period of time had been like for Augus.

Gwyn kept his hand on Augus’ chest and watched him, unsure. All the things that he wanted to be able to do, he shouldn’t be doing. What would they say, the Court, if they saw him like this, now? How would they react? He’d spent so much of his life trying to do the right thing by other people, and yet here he was, emphatically getting it wrong.

Gwyn withdrew his hand from Augus’ chest slowly. He placed his hands on his folded knees and looked around the room itself. He didn’t know what he was doing. His mind was a mess.

Augus pushed himself up in stages, facing Gwyn now, hair dripping far less than normal. Almost as slowly as it had the first time Gwyn had visited him in the cell.

‘Why is your hair less damp than usual?’ Gwyn said, and Augus looked surprised that Gwyn had noticed.

‘Transforming to my true-form is draining. It requires water. I wouldn’t have managed it if you hadn’t given me access to the lake, after you decided to change your mind about torturing me to death.’

Gwyn frowned. He looked at the small jug of water behind Augus and realised it wouldn’t be enough. Augus lacked lustre, there were twinned pale spots high up on his cheeks.

‘Augus, you should go to the lake,’ Gwyn said, and Augus nodded once.

‘I’m aware.’

‘I can take you,’ Gwyn said.

Augus didn’t say anything in response. He ran the flat of his palm along the uppermost blanket on Gwyn’s bed, and then wrinkled his face at the texture and ran his own fingers along his palm as though he could remove the coarseness of the fabric. Gwyn liked it, but he supposed Augus had once been used to finer things. Could possibly get used to them again, with the opportunities Gwyn was giving him.

Augus subsided into silence. Minutes passed and neither of them said anything, and then Augus got off the bed and picked up the glass of water and drained it. He poured another glass, drained that, and then emptied the jug completely, creating a final, half-full glass. He drained that quickly, looking up blankly as he did so. He set the glass and the jug down, and kept his hands around them.

‘I can get more,’ Gwyn said.

Augus shook his head absently. He carefully pushed fingers into his hair, and then held the lock of hair loosely with his other hand, pulling his fingers through it. When he was done, he brought his hand around and looked at his fingers, turning them to the light. Gwyn realised he was looking at how damp they were, checking the moisture content. Augus’ brow pinched together. He didn’t look happy with the results, but Gwyn wasn’t either.

He realised, with some shock, that he didn’t like seeing Augus unhealthy, wasting like this. Certainly there were parts of him that crowed for it, but...

Augus reached up and trailed his hand through his hair again, and Gwyn watched the way his fingers worked carefully but quickly at tangles.

‘Do you...would you want me to do that for you?’ Gwyn said, before he was entirely aware of what he’d just volunteered. He tensed at the look that Augus gave him. It was calculating.

‘You,’ Augus said flatly. Gwyn refused to look away, maintained eye contact, held up against the derision that Augus had invested into that single word. After a little while, Augus removed his fingers from his hair and his eyes narrowed. ‘Why?’

‘Everyone knows that a waterhorse would prefer someone else do that for-’

‘Yes, but _you?’_

Gwyn wanted to say, ‘Do you see anyone else?’ He wanted to lash out, but he kept his mouth closed, he forced back the words that spilled into his mouth and kept them behind closed lips, damaging sparks under his tongue. He’d brought Augus up to his room because he wanted to help, and if Augus didn’t want that help, or couldn’t accept it, then that was – Gwyn knew – understandable.

Gwyn thought it was a miracle that they’d stayed in each other’s company for so long, and things were still somewhat civil. It was only likely because they’d both been shaken by the events of the evening. An ideal outcome, perhaps, would be that Augus would simply agree to remain outside of his cell, up in the palace. But then that wasn’t _ideal,_ Gwyn realised. Ideal would be Gwyn not bringing him up here in the first place.

Augus walked towards the bed and got onto it again. He sat in front of Gwyn, cross-legged, back facing him. Gwyn realised, with shock, that Augus had agreed. He moved forwards and reached up with his hand and touched it to the back of Augus’ head, gently, gauging his response. Augus did nothing. Gwyn couldn’t see his expression.

He didn’t have practice doing this with others, but his hair used to be longer, and he often used his own fingers to untangle it. He pursed his lips, concentrating, and then threaded the fingers of one hand through Augus’ hair. It was strong, but softer than he thought it would be. He brought up his other hand and held the hair still at the roots in case he met any tangles, and drew his fingers down slowly. A hidden strand of thin waterweed brushed, clean and leaved all over, against his fingers.

Augus bowed his head forwards slightly, and folded his hands into his lap.

Gwyn moved his hands methodically down one side of Augus’ head, getting the hang of it slowly. When he reached the base of Augus’ skull, Augus made a soft, absent sound. He sighed out a long breath. Gwyn watched the hair move through his fingers, a darker black than he would have thought possible. The tips were brittle, didn’t look healthy. He rubbed them between his fingers. The lake would help the condition of his hair.

Gwyn moved his hands to the other side of Augus’ head, turning it a little to get a better angle. Augus obliged, moving his head with the small shifts of pressure on his scalp.

‘How is your injury?’ Gwyn said quietly, referring to where he’d been cut open with the rock, and Augus shrugged.

‘It will heal.’

The _eventually_ was implied.

‘What would they say?’ Augus said, and Gwyn blinked at him as he threaded the hank of hair over his palm. ‘What would they say, your Court, if they knew you were doing this?’

Gwyn stopped, he almost withdrew completely. Augus pressed his head backwards into Gwyn’s hand, and Gwyn started moving again without really thinking about it. There were times, in the past, when he’d contemplated doing things that would move the Seelie Court against him. Times where he wondered what he could do that would be bad enough to get the entire Court to unify against his position and demote him. It was the only way he could exit the Kingship, short of waiting out the centuries more he had to wait in the position.

But fae were capricious and cruel. Even the Seelie fae could not be sure to respond predictably if Gwyn did something terrible. But sometimes Gwyn wondered if _this_ was it, if this was the thing that could get him removed from the throne. Possibly. It was also enough to get him demoted down to a lower caste, and then slaughtered. The reputation associated with Augus was strong enough, rabid enough, that simply through not treating him monstrously, everyone would assume he was a monster.

Gwyn winced and his hands slid to a stop, dropping down behind Augus’ shoulders. He was tired. He’d been putting off sleep for too long and he had to monitor the Kingdom for at least another week to see how they reacted to the display.

Augus turned and looked at him, over his shoulder. He twisted fully around and Gwyn’s eyes flew open when he felt Augus’ hand boldly rest over his crotch through his pants, massaging confidently. Gwyn stared at him, and Augus raised his eyebrows, a question.

Gwyn pushed him back and Augus laughed under his breath.

‘You have your way of dealing with things, and I have mine,’ Augus said, and Gwyn raised his hands too late as Augus moved forwards again.

‘Augus, I don’t think now is the-’

‘Like your cock thinks there’s a right time for fucking,’ Augus laughed at him.

Gwyn grabbed Augus by both of the shoulders and held him still, before sliding off the bed completely. Gwyn couldn’t think of anything he wanted to do less. Augus watched him, openly curious, and then sat back on his thighs, watching Gwyn with a look that made him uncomfortable.

‘You seem fine,’ Gwyn said, disapproving. ‘I’ll take you to the lake.’

Augus came off the bed and ran his fingers down the bedpost before walking over to Gwyn’s closet and opening it. Gwyn watched, teeth gritted together, as Augus looked through his clothing quietly. He’d have to change the permissions once Augus left, so that he wasn’t allowed back in this room, or the inner circle of rooms. He couldn’t think of anything worse than Augus going through whatever he wanted, while Gwyn was out on Court and Kingdom matters.

‘Are these receipts? You have... _why_ do you have receipts?’ Augus picked up the sheaf of receipts and held them up. He looked offended.

Gwyn shook his head slowly.

‘If you make contracts with dwarves, it’s best to get receipts, I find.’

‘Right, and you’ve made a lot of contracts with dwa- I suppose you need to constantly keep stocked up in Court quality weapons, what with your team of ready-to-die soldiers.’

_‘Augus,’_ Gwyn said, and Augus dropped the receipts back where he’d found them and turned around, leaning against the closed closet door.

‘I know some of this is a lie,’ Gwyn said, and Augus smirked at him. Gwyn felt like Augus was letting him on a secret, in that moment. Something dark passed over his face, and a sadness chased it and then disappeared again. It reminded Gwyn once more of the surface of disturbed lakes, reflecting different colours depending on which way the breeze blew.

‘The lake then,’ Augus said, stepping forwards and stopping a short distance from Gwyn. ‘Since it’s so important to you, all of a sudden, that I _feel better._ Didn’t enjoy tonight at all, did you? Not remotely. _’_

Gwyn grabbed onto his arms and teleported him to the lake within the palace, not having a response to that.

Once they landed at the lake, enclosed by walls and mossy beds replete with ferns and low benches, Gwyn took a step back and looked around. There was almost no sign that Augus had been using this room, or the lake itself. The ferns looked healthier, perhaps, but that was it.

Augus was staring at the water, his entire awareness drawing towards it. He had become alert, suddenly, and his hands fisted at his sides. He looked at Gwyn sidelong.

‘It’s still there,’ Augus said, and Gwyn had no idea what he was talking about. ‘Your madness.’

Gwyn swallowed and took a step backwards, running a hand through his hair.

‘It’s under control.’

‘It isn’t,’ Augus said. ‘That’s not control.’

‘Why are we talking about this?’

‘Why not?’ Augus said, unexpectedly serious. ‘Is there a better time to bring it up, than when I can escape into the lake? What are you planning on doing about it? And _don’t_ tell me it’s not my business. Look at me and tell me who else you’ve been taking it out on.’

Gwyn winced and then shook his head.

‘It’s under control,’ he said, but the words sounded desperate, even to him. He had to go. He didn’t talk to people about this; certainly not Augus. ‘I’m sure the lake will help you.’

‘You always run away,’ Augus said, smiling faintly as Gwyn summoned the light and left the room and Augus behind him. Gwyn returned to his own room and stood, mind blank, for several minutes.

He picked up his new recurve bow where it was hanging on the wall, his quiver of arrows, and started to teleport out of the room before stopping. He looked at the weapon, and then placed both the bow and the quiver of arrows down carefully on his bed.

He hadn’t been able to hunt at all since that night, and he doubted hunting would help now.

He teleported without the bow and arrows, landing deep in a deserted forest. The tree against his back was more stable than he felt he deserved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, 'Liver,:' 
> 
> ‘I don’t need your absolution!’ Gwyn shouted, fists clenching. ‘I gave you a measure of _trust!_ And this is how you repay me? A month, Augus. A _month_ you’ve had here, under my protection, knowing that no one else would see you alive, and now this? And of course, I am an _idiot_ , which we have both always known; but this goes beyond the pale. And if you are willing to do this to me, because of an excuse like _hunger_ , I will make sure that you get _fed._ ’


	12. Liver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this chapter: Poisoning, Force-Feeding, Minor Character Death, Murder, Role Reversal
> 
> *
> 
> YEP and thus we begin Act 2, where everything changes. A giant thank you to everyone who is commenting (whether new or old commenters, regular or irregular comments, you're all amazing), and to those who are kudosing / bookmarking etc.

Gwyn wore his full warrior regalia to the funeral of Efnisien. He stood, grim, as other fae said their speeches and eulogies. He returned the steady gaze of his mother, who – when she was not presenting the appearance of an appropriately grieving aunt – secretly stared hatred at him that seemed to say: _It should have been you._

It was seemly for the King of the Seelie fae to be present at such a funeral. Efnisien had been a cruel, horrific monster since they were young, but he was also family. It obligated him, forced him into functions he had no interest in attending. But Gwyn stood hiding more than the fact that he hated his cousin from his fellow fae. He was hiding a great deal, in fact, about Efnisien’s sudden, unexpected passing.  

Efnisien had been murdered in Gwyn’s palatial rooms, by _Augus._

Watching Efnisien’s family members – since they had always belonged to Efnisien more than they had ever belonged to Gwyn – something hardened into stone in his gut. He and Augus had been living a month peaceably since the display, barely seeing each other, civil when they encountered one another by chance. It had been a tentative stalemate, hadn’t it?

He had given Augus chances, had increased his leeway, and for _what?_

When he’d discovered Augus over the bloodied mess of Efnisien, so mauled that his face was hardly recognisable, he’d acted as quickly as possible. He’d unthinkingly used his light to knock Augus unconscious before Augus had even really noticed him. Shackled him by the wrists and ankles in his innermost room, where _no one_ else could penetrate. And then he’d teleported the body of Efnisien, complete with _parts,_ to the Caves of Argoth. It was a desperate act, but one he hoped would seem reasonable. Even some of the most studied, battle-hardened fae didn’t survive the Caves of Argoth.

He’d come back and reported the death immediately, stating that a fae had informed him privately of the matter.

No one had questioned the death so far.

Fae funerals were broken into several stages. Immediately following a death, family members gathered to give their speeches to one another. Within twelve hours of the announcement of Efnisien’s death, immediate, extended and distant family rallied. In the weeks that would follow, wakes would be arranged. But Gwyn needed this first part out of the way as quickly as possible, to escape his mother’s gaze, to deal with the situation he had brought down upon himself.

After the funeral, a black mood descended over him as he walked back to his rooms.

He didn’t like the idea of leaving Augus down in the cells to waste away, he didn’t like the idea of killing him; hadn’t the display been designed to avoid that very event? But if anyone ever found out the _truth_ of what had happened, if anyone found out that Gwyn had covered-up for _Augus..._ he would be demoted and killed. He would lose his Kingdom – no great loss – but he would be known for the creature he was, destroyed for choosing Augus over family. It was untenable.

Augus was awake, chained to the wall, spattered with Efnisien’s dried blood, yet still managed to look infuriatingly calm when Gwyn entered his room. He watched Gwyn quietly, a hint of a smirk lurking about his lips. Seeing _that,_ after everything, caused a cold rage to burrow through him, forcing its way up and down his spine. Gwyn’s hand tensed, but he didn’t curl it into a fist. Not yet. He had to be careful. He had to maintain some measure of control. If his time with Augus had taught him anything, it had taught him that.

‘Are you going to ask me _why?’_ Augus purred, a dangerous, jagged light in his eyes.

‘No,’ Gwyn said coldly, noticing droplets of blood on the floorboards where Augus had struggled hard against the shackles once he’d regained consciousness. So the calm was not entirely real. Even Augus knew that there might be serious consequences to his actions.

‘You look half-mad again,’ Augus drawled, and Gwyn’s teeth ground together.

‘I was hungry,’ Augus said as Gwyn unstrapped the vambraces off his arms, throwing them down onto the bed.

‘You don’t eat fae.’

‘Perhaps I was willing to make an exception for that shitty little psychopath,’ Augus said. ‘You never told me you allowed him access to your rooms.’

‘He’s family,’ Gwyn said, angry that he was even being drawn out into conversation. ‘And the things that I don’t tell you could fill the library of Nara-Thoth.’

Augus didn’t reply after that. Gwyn continued to strip down, focusing on removing his armour. He hated wearing his regalia for funerals. Armour was for war, for battle, not for standing there while he pretended to mourn.

When he had dressed in his regular clothes, combed out his hair with his fingers, he turned to leave.

‘If you were so hungry, perhaps I should find you something to eat.’

*

Augus reacted to the smell of the human liver before Gwyn had even entered the room. Augus didn’t say anything, but Gwyn could hear the feral, frantic pulling at shackles. The kind of struggling that cared not for leaving skin intact, the desperate struggle of any wild animal.

Gwyn felt cold, dark pleasure curl up inside of him. If Augus wanted to put Gwyn’s entire reputation, his _life_ , in jeopardy, then he could deal with the consequences.

Augus was glaring at him as he entered, entire body weight straining against the cuffs, wrists dripping blood.

‘I will _destroy_ you,’ Augus hissed, ‘like I _destroyed_ your cousin. Do you think I won’t?’

‘One day, perhaps,’ Gwyn said. ‘But it won’t be while I’m the King of the Seelie fae and you are nothing but underfae. And it won’t be today.’

He set down the plate with the perfect, fresh liver upon it. It had been easy enough to acquire. Humans died all the time. Not all of them were organ donors. And there were plenty of fae who fed upon humans before and after embalming; it was simple enough to put an order in, have it fast-tracked because he was the King.

He took up the fork and the knife while Augus watched with narrowed eyes, cut off a neat slice, laying it across the plate.

‘Have you ever tried it?’ Gwyn said, and Augus threw himself back against the wall and closed his eyes, squeezed them shut.

‘Here we go _again._ You’re going back to your roots, Gwyn,’ Augus gasped. ‘You made me _break_ you for doing this to Cyledr. Do you remember? Do you remember how you cried and begged for me to rid you of your madness? I hardly knew you, but you knew of _me,_ of my reputation, didn’t you? And knowing that I could deliver absolution, you bade me absolve you and I... _obviously_ didn’t do a good enough job. Who will absolve you now?’

‘I don’t need your absolution!’ Gwyn shouted, fists clenching. ‘I gave you a measure of _trust!_ And this is how you repay me? A month, Augus. A _month_ you’ve had here, under my protection, knowing that no one else would see you alive, and now this? And of course, I am an _idiot,_ which we have both always known; but this goes beyond the pale. And if you are willing to do this to me, because of an excuse like _hunger,_ I will make sure that you get _fed.’_

‘Fuck you, Gwyn,’ Augus laughed, and Gwyn knelt over him and drew his fist back, looking into eyes that were part-amusement and part-despair.  Gwyn turned away, forcing his arm down, forcing himself to take deep breaths.

‘Cursing already, Augus?’ Gwyn heard himself say. ‘So I’m getting through to you then?’

Augus began to sag in his shackles, and Gwyn took his opportunity. With the reflexes born of repeated centuries of battle, he grabbed the sliver of meat and lunged back, pulling Augus’ mouth open and shoving the liver down the back of his throat. The element of surprise worked on his side, Augus swallowed reflexively as he struggled too late, eyes opening impossibly wide. They locked onto his, disbelieving. Gwyn slammed his palm over Augus’ mouth, an icy bloodlust surging through him, a familiar sensation that hadn’t awoken since the hunt.

Augus immediately tried to choke the liver back up again, and Gwyn closed his fingers around Augus’ throat, preventing him. Shackles clanked and jangled, Augus’ entire body became a roiling mass of tension. Gwyn felt when Augus summoned his waterhorse strength to his human-form, but Gwyn was stronger even than that.

After two minutes, Augus went limp against the shackles. After another two had passed, Gwyn let go, stepped back, watched. Waited.

‘Should I have asked if it will kill you?’ Gwyn said, and Augus didn’t respond, boneless and trembling, far paler than usual. ‘Never mind. I know. We once had to wrangle some information out of the Ceffyl Dwr.’

Augus didn’t look up, but he took a deep, slow breath through his nose.

‘Let me know when the pain begins,’ Gwyn said. ‘And if it doesn’t, I have acquired a whole liver. I could do this all night. Tomorrow. The next day. I could get another.’

No response.

Gwyn smashed down his own discomfort with the situation, and settled nearby in his stiff-backed chair, folded his arms. A minute ticked by. Another.

‘I gave you...’ Augus said, his voice weak, ‘a measure...of _trust.’_

Gwyn frowned, he leaned forwards, placed his hands on his knees.

‘To not do this to you? After you kill a family member? After you make me your disposal unit? Threaten my reign? Force me to cover up for you and go against my nature? There was nothing of _justice_ in any of this.’

‘I wasn’t thinking that far...ahead.’

‘It was cold-blooded _murder._ You weren’t thinking at all. You were reverting to type.’

Augus drew his knees up as far as the manacles around his ankles would allow him. His shoulders bowed forwards.

‘You are like him, you know,’ Augus said. ‘You are very like Efnisien. Were you _friends?’_

Gwyn narrowed his eyes. He didn’t appreciate the comparison. And Efnisien had been back in Gwyn’s rooms again, this time had made his way deeper into the palace of concentric circles. To torment him no doubt. Except that Efnisien knew that Gwyn would be absent from the palace, didn’t he? Gwyn had announced it himself; that he would be away on important business. Had Efnisien forgotten, when he wandered into the palace? Was he looking for the artefact he had asked for and been denied? Gwyn had assumed that was a front.

‘Your ham-handed methods of punishment don’t teach anything at all,’ Augus managed. ‘If you think this will make me ignore the plot that you have both made against my brother, you had best get a lot more liver.’

Gwyn sat up straighter. Confusion flared into sudden, sharp understanding.

‘There is no plot against Ash,’ Gwyn said, and Augus jerked against the chains holding him.

‘That is what you would say, isn’t it? You pushed Gulvi and Ash into power, but we...both know that Ash is the weaker link there. If he was deposed, if he was removed as King...’

Everything made a great deal more sense, an awful sense. Efnisien _would_ threaten something like that, he would goad, he would be cruel.

‘ _This_ is why you were a terrible King,’ Gwyn said, walking over to the desk and getting the keys for the shackles.

A shadow of doubt twisted into something far more painful. There was no crushing down how he felt about himself in that moment. Augus had warned him, Augus had told him he didn’t have the madness under control. He knelt beside Augus and unlocked the first manacle, growling when he saw how much damage had been done.

‘You don’t take the weak people out of power,’ Gwyn said angrily, ‘You leave them in power. You make them aware that _you_ put them there. Then they are easy to manipulate. Even Unseelie fae like to square their debts. When you made your Court, I couldn’t believe you asked the Nain Rouge to join you. She was going to do you, exactly what you did to the Raven Prince. It was as though... you had all the ambition and skill and charm and power to get there, and then once you got there,’ he unsnicked the other manacle and pulled it away from Augus’ limp wrist, ‘you didn’t know how to _do_ any of it.’

Augus tilted alarmingly forward, and then managed to hold himself back through sheer strength of will to stop his forehead from touching Gwyn’s shoulder. He was trembling. Gwyn tasted bile in the back of his throat. Augus had even asked him; _Are you going to ask me why?_ He’d even offered to tell his side of the story. But no, Gwyn had felt trapped, had responded in a way that would make his family proud.

‘I would never plot to take Ash out of power. He’s a pliable idiot. I might be terrible at everything interpersonal, I know that; but I _can_ rule a Kingdom. Under my reign, we have seen the final destruction of the Nightmare King. I have restored an element of balance to the Seelie and Unseelie Kingdoms. I have ended wars before they have begun and stopped tyrannies in their tracks. And the one thing that you seem to have missed, is that I don’t work _against_ those that can be easily manipulated.’

‘You shouldn’t...talk about my brother...that way.’

‘Shut up, Augus,’ Gwyn said, lifting Augus up into his arms and leaning backwards so that he didn’t tip right out of them again. He walked out of his room, away from the liver. Where his hands accidentally glanced from the fabric of Augus’ clothing to his skin, they slipped on sweat. ‘You know it’s true. You love that he is guileless. That he doesn’t have the mind for it. You just don’t love it, now that he’s in power, and can be easily manipulated by everyone else while you aren’t there to make sure it doesn’t happen.’

‘This all sounds...very reassuring...but you, _you_ would do something like this. You’ve used him _before._ You...you know how I would react, if you, if you were to...’ Augus trailed off and then muttered a long string of faint curse words that dissolved into nothing but ragged breathing. Gwyn swore once, sharply. He walked faster. He thought, maybe, water might help. He took a right turn, and then another, walking through several curtains of vines.

‘Efnisien played you, and underestimated your love for your brother. And he paid the price for it. I can’t say I’m tremendously sorry about Efnisien, being that he was a ‘shitty little psychopath,’ as you eloquently put it. But if anyone _ever_ found out that I...’ Gwyn entered the dim room with its quiet, tranquil lake and walked straight into the water, getting his pants wet, his shirt, Augus’ clothing. Augus tensed as soon as his legs hit the lake. ‘If anyone ever found out that I covered up for you. For the least loved fae in _both_ Kingdoms.’

‘I wasn’t thinking that far...’ Augus said. ‘He was a...crude wordsmith, but...effective.’

Gwyn had felt betrayed, so betrayed, and he had only seen far enough ahead to how trapped _he_ was. He was so tangled up in the mess that he’d started with Augus, and he had done it to himself. Efnisien wouldn’t have known that Augus was there in the first place, would have been stunned, though not shocked enough that he couldn’t taunt him. And _Gwyn_ had placed him up there, the monster in the palace, a minotaur in the maze. All because Gwyn couldn’t stomach killing or imprisoning someone who needed to be contained, leashed. Because Gwyn had never believed in human punishments for fae.

Augus continued to tense until he shook violently from it. And then, clearly trying to suppress pain through a closed mouth and clenched teeth, he moaned thinly.

‘Is it too late to throw it up?’ Gwyn said, and Augus breathed a pained laugh against his chest.

‘You...made sure.’

Gwyn settled them both down on the underwater bench. The last time Gwyn had been in this position, on this bench, Augus had stabbed fingers into his gut. Gwyn grimaced. He tried to shift Augus so that he wasn’t completely on his lap anymore, so that he was next to him, but Augus turned sideways into him and refused to move. They were both immersed almost up to their shoulders in the water, the tips of Augus’ hair floating out limply. He’d never seen Augus in so much pain. He knew it would only get worse.

‘ _Distract me,’_ Augus gasped, and Gwyn reached up automatically, hesitated, then curved an awkward arm around him.

He had met all kinds of monsters in his lifetime, he was related to them, he had defeated them, he had avoided them, he had killed them. But the one he couldn’t get away from, the one that seemed to do the most damage, was himself.

‘What did Efnisien say to you?’ Gwyn said, his voice echoing off the surface of the water.

‘Not with... _conversation,’_ Augus managed a look that was so exasperated it levelled him. Gwyn’s eyes widened.

‘I’m not sure we should-’

Augus made a pained noise that ended up strangled in the back of his throat. He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, and they sheened with tears, before he rolled them back down again, desperate.

‘Do not, do _not_ make me beg you, Gwyn. I-’

Augus lifted his head, brushed chapped lips against the side of Gwyn’s face. It was clumsy and unfocused. Augus’ tongue slid along his jawline, a warm streak that ended with Gwyn feeling Augus’ nostrils flare against his lips as another spasm of pain worked its way through his body. Gwyn held him, helpless, as Augus’ entire body revolted against the small slice of liver inside of him.

Augus had never pressed lips to him before, not like that. Had never willingly kissed his face. Gwyn stared ahead, blank, uncertain. Was he pretending Gwyn was someone else? That, more than anything, made him worry for Augus’ wellbeing, his safety. His hand moved fretfully across Augus’ back.

‘How long will the pain last?’

‘Under...fae,’ Augus gasped, smeared wetness against the side of Gwyn’s cheek as his body shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position around a pain he couldn’t escape. ‘Long. Could be...fatal. When I was...King, I accidentally took a bite once and...tasted bad, made...very sick. I recovered in time. Different now.’

Gone were the precise words and sentences, the smoothness of his voice. Augus sounded ruined, and Gwyn could smell the fear rising from him, the acrid silt of it. Augus was afraid for himself, his life, possibly of the increasing agony.

Gwyn doubted that he could truly distract Augus from the pain. He knew it was rising, quickly, and that for it to be bad enough that Augus could no longer hide it, it was beyond bearing.

 _You did this to him. You did this without_ thinking, _as always, because you had a bad day. How many times have gone to Augus, with your bad days, and turned into what your family always wanted you to be?_

Gwyn choked off a sound in the back of his own throat. He couldn’t deal with this now. But his mind was relentless, and on its heels, a bleak, consuming hatred. It eclipsed what his mother felt for him, it bloomed along his spine like a disease.

 _What will you do? And you thought defeating Augus was difficult when he was King. What will you do now that the only beast you have to contend with is yourself? The Kingdom might_ notice, _now that they have no villains to fixate on._

Augus rattled a sound that was half wet breath, half agony, and then juddered against Gwyn in a violent wracking of pain. Gwyn squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t bear this.

He had a terrible idea.

 _Another_ one.

He pressed his lips absently to the side of Augus’ head, lost in thought. He knew the idea was wrong, was a sign of how far down the rabbit hole he’d fallen. But he was already so close to losing his Kingship, he’d already done something which _would_ get him demoted and killed if it was ever discovered. When he removed the body of his own cousin, he’d already committed to protecting the stupid creature in his arms in far more ways than could ever be forgiven.

He couldn’t tell which way was up anymore. His chest knotted up.

Augus’ centre was changing. And he was being dragged along with it, caught up in an undertow he thought he could control.

‘Augus,’ Gwyn whispered against the side of his face. ‘Augus, can you hear me? Are you listening?’

Augus didn’t respond. A new wave of whole-body cramps was moving through him, turning his muscles to spasms, making them writhe. Augus bit out long, faint, keening sounds, trying to keep what might have been screaming under control. Augus was barely able to manage his own body, now.

Gwyn knew that if he was going to do it, he’d have to do it soon. The liver poisoning could kill him, and there was hours of this torment left – at least – and he hadn’t even thought to factor in Augus’ status. Why did he constantly forget that Augus was underfae?

_Perhaps because you don’t believe he should be._

‘Augus Each Uisge,’ Gwyn said softly, formally, wishing he could claw out his heart and replace it with the just, fair spirit that used to beat there instead. The reality was, it hadn’t been there for months. ‘I, Gwyn ap Nudd – King of the Seelie Court – revoke your status as underfae and...’

Gwyn took a deep breath as Augus stiffened in his arms, a combination of pain and disbelief. The shock of it thrummed through both of them like a tuning fork. Gwyn’s gut churned, but he could see no other way out of what he’d done. Worse, it felt like the right thing to do.

‘I hereby revoke your status as underfae, and raise you up to the status of Capital.’

Augus made a choked sound deep in his throat, sobbed as another rush of pain flooded through him. The status change wouldn’t be immediate, but it would start soon enough. Gwyn was glad that status changes were private matters for fae to announce for themselves, so that no one else would know. He was glad that Capital status meant that Augus couldn’t teleport, and couldn’t make his magical domes. Glad that Augus was still a prisoner.

He was horrified, chagrined at himself. He wanted to demote _himself._ He still believed, somewhere inside of him, that Augus was playing some terrible long-game. And if he was, _if he was,_ Gwyn had played straight into his trap.

But the frail, weak creature whom Gwyn had just force fed an agonising poison couldn’t have known that Gwyn would use liver against him. Could never have predicted that Gwyn would feel a shred of guilt over the matter once he had. Did, in fact, believe that Gwyn was plotting against his brother, and had retaliated to protect the person he loved.

_I gave you a measure of trust._

Gwyn closed his eyes, pressed a wet palm against his face. He told himself that the water was from the pond, wasn’t mixed with anything else, that his eyes weren’t burning, that he was fine, he was running the Kingdom that he never wanted and he would be _fine,_ because everyone expected justice, and light, and seemed to forget his roots; everyone except Augus.

The next hour passed too slowly. Augus ended up wracked with near constant pain, and when he started clawing at his own belly, Gwyn had the horrible job of keeping his sharp nails away from his flesh, making sure he didn’t gut himself. Augus was using enough force that he fully believed that he might end up killing himself without realising, trying to remove the flesh to dig out the toxins inside.

And when Augus finally started to sob, broken and desperate, noises that would have humiliated him if he’d had the awareness to know what he was doing, Gwyn couldn’t do much more than hold him close and whisper apologies that Augus would never hear. And if, at one point, Gwyn spoke the words ‘ _absolve me_ ’ in his own hitched up voice, Augus didn’t hear that either.

Gwyn could tell when the power started flowing back. He could tell before Augus could. It didn’t relieve the pain straight away, but he could feel a shimmering greenness, a coalescing murk that swelled back into place. It thickened Augus’ hair, caused waterweed to sprout more freely from his scalp. It made Augus grip him more tightly when the cramps came, his musculature responding. The change was happening much faster than it normally would, but perhaps that was because they were both bending their wills so desperately towards it.

Capital fae, those who were allowed to enter – without permission from the Kings and Queens – the Courts of the fae. Not yet Outer Court, not yet Court, but a status of repute.

‘What have I done?’ Gwyn said to himself, hoping that if he said the words out loud, he would wake up. But he didn’t wake up, and his eyes burnt acid.

He wasn’t made for this. He was made to pick up swords and fight clear, armed enemies. He was suitable for advising Kings but not being one. He’d been trained as battlefield fodder. These situations were beyond him, and the only reason more people didn’t know that, was because he could – at times – move people against each other effectively, could strategise.

Time passed and Augus, after some time simply resting limp and exhausted against him, shifted. It was a purposeful movement, though it was still weak. He moved until he could press his forehead into Gwyn’s shoulder, and Gwyn told himself that the only reason he didn’t remove his hand from Augus’ back, didn’t stop stroking, was that he wanted to be prepared in case Augus tried to escape.

‘I was dying,’ Augus said, quietly. His voice was a poor attempt at his usual smoothness.

‘Yes,’ Gwyn said, voice strained, ‘I...didn’t think that far ahead.’

They seemed to be borrowing each other’s words.

‘I thought you meant for me to die,’ Augus said. ‘I thought, at first...that you had planned to harm my brother. And that because Efnisien couldn’t keep his foul mouth shut, you would make sure that I couldn’t reveal the plan to...by the gods, these sorts of politics are beyond my ken, it seems, when Ash is involved.’

‘Careful, Augus,’ Gwyn said, horrified that Augus actually thought he would _kill_ him, horrified because he’d almost done it _twice_ now. ‘You’re admitting to being bad at something. You’re better than that.’

‘I _heard_ you,’ Augus said, scraping his teeth over Gwyn’s skin, biting hard enough that Gwyn winced. ‘ _Absolve me.’_

Gwyn went still, dread crept up into his throat. He’d hardly been aware of saying it, and he was sure that Augus hadn’t heard him.

‘Do you think... I should?’ Augus said, a manacle-damaged wrist sliding against his chest, fingers spider-walking down his torso. The movements were not as precise as usual, but they were still absurdly confident. Even with Augus’ centre changing, he slipped into dominance so easily. And Gwyn couldn’t want it, couldn’t trust him, certainly not _now._ And yet...he remembered two hands encircling his wrists and the look on Augus’ face that said he knew exactly what he was doing, exactly what Gwyn needed.

‘Should I make you work for it?’ Augus rose up and pushed his tongue into Gwyn’s ear. ‘It’s what you’ve wanted since before you had me in the cell, isn’t it? Have you been able to admit it to yourself yet? All those times you...looked after all of us, both Kingdoms, and wished there was someone you could visit to make all the bad, wrong feelings go away? Because don’t they just build up otherwise? They build, and build, and you end up poisoning a waterhorse you care for, with only one way to extract yourself; one method that the other fae will never, ever forgive you for. Raising my status from underfae. You can imagine their faces, can’t you?’

Gwyn turned his head away, but Augus shifted easily in the water, stronger now, empowered in his own element.

‘Don’t you _hate_ yourself? Just a little? Do you wonder if you’re like Efnisien? You’re related. You share _blood.’_

Gwyn didn’t respond, and he gasped when he felt a sharp fingernail press through the barrier of his skin at his neck like it was nothing. Blood welled around the wound and trickled down his skin. It was a sharp, grounding pain.

‘I asked you a question, Gwyn. And you _will_ answer me.’

Gwyn told himself he should stop this. He told himself he _had_ to. Things had gone far enough. He had disposed of a body. He had lied about how Efnisien had been killed. He had done it for a criminal, for someone who would always be remembered as one who could never be forgiven, could never be released. He had attended that funeral knowing full well that he deserved demotion, that he could be killed for what he had done. He had raised Augus up from underfae to Capital, because he couldn’t bear the thought of Augus in that prolonged pain, of him dying. And he could revoke that status again but...he didn’t want to.

‘What goes on in that head of yours?’ Augus whispered, trailing fingernails down the side of Gwyn’s face and pressing threateningly. ‘You come across as being more dense than a block of hardwood. But what _really_ goes on? You didn’t answer my question. Do you wonder if you’re like Efnisien? Look at what you’ve done in the past. Look at what you did to Efnisien. Look what you did for _me.’_

‘They’re just words, Augus. I can remove your status at any time.’

‘So _do it,’_ Augus laughed, and even though it was a hoarse shadow of his usual easy laughter, it rippled with a dangerous arrogance. ‘Make me underfae again, Gwyn. I _see_ you. I’ve seen you for a _long_ time. Didn’t you wish, the first time you came down to that cell, that I would split you open, make you _bleed,_ and you would not have to think anymore about how hard it is up there, playing the game, doing the strategy. I could tell you were having a hard day.’

Gwyn became vaguely aware that he was shaking. He realised, as Augus slid fingers up into his hair and then clawed them down his scalp, that he was dropping too quickly. He was losing complete control of the situation, had already _lost_ it, and then what if he ended up like Efnisien, what if he ended up mangled and broken and unrecognisable and everyone discovered it was because he’d given in, he wasn’t strong enough to resist for-

‘It’s been so long, you don’t need much,’ Augus said, straddling him, sliding warm thighs across Gwyn’s hips, making sure his breath gusted against Gwyn’s skin, ‘do you? But here, Gwyn, listen to me. You do so like to hear me talk, don’t you?’

Gwyn made a sound of disagreement that faded away to nothing when Augus scraped his fingernails through his scalp again. It sent trails of fire down the back of his spine. He was swimming up through fog, trying to remind himself of all of his duties, the ones he may have just _thrown away,_ because he couldn’t handlehis responsibilities like a functioning King.

‘Do you want to know what I learned about you, all those years ago? I learned that you are a wild creature who tames himself for others, because that’s what your family taught you was right and proper. But wild creatures don’t take to the yoke well, that’s why we domesticate humans, and horses, and dogs. Not _fae._ And you tame yourself for others, but there are serious consequences, a barely restrained madness perhaps, and afterwards you’re so bewildered. You are so damaged by your reality that you need someone else to give you permission for it. Can you imagine? A wild creature, asking permission to be wild.

‘How convenient I was for you, down there in the cells. I’m a wild creature too. And you...well,’ Augus laughed quietly again, ‘who were you really trying to break apart, Gwyn?’

Augus reached down under the water, slid his hand under Gwyn’s shirt, trailed fingertips over Gwyn’s skin. He reached lower, unbuttoned his pants, worked aside the clingy wet fabric with ease. Gwyn made a sound of revulsion when Augus rubbed his mangled, torn up wrist over his cock. He tried to move away, heart beating wild palpitations in his chest. He lurched sideways but Augus shifted with him, murmuring something that he couldn’t catch.

‘You did this,’ Augus said softly, biting Gwyn’s lower lip. He laughed when Gwyn didn’t move again, when his head dropped back and he stared, unseeing, at the ceiling. He was in too deep, he was drowning, there was too much to sort out. He’d have to hide what he’d done from everyone, he would have to hide the truth from them forever. There was no justice in what he’d done. Not in hiding a family member’s body for Augus _._ There was no justice left to give. He couldn’t see into his own self. He didn’t know what was left.

‘You are dropping _fast,’_ Augus purred. The wrist against him turned into a hand grasping him firmly, stroking him to hardness with an ease that was almost embarrassing. Augus’ hands were too clever, even when they were tired. And Gwyn, well, Gwyn had never needed _clever._

The first time he had been with Augus, he hadn’t felt worthy of that careful, thorough, meticulous breaking. He had expected to be taken apart like an animal, and it was worse – almost – this _attention._

‘You’re the King of the Seelie Court, letting me do this to you. Don’t avoid it, Gwyn. Look at the reality in front of you. Honestly, why aren’t you stopping me?’ Augus said. Gwyn made a sound in his throat, tried to shift again, but his body wasn’t listening. He was paralysed; apprehension and anxiety and the appeal of Augus all drawing up together until he felt sick with it.

‘You don’t need me to break you anymore,’ Augus said, his voice almost soothing. ‘You _broke._ You didn’t even need me to break you the first time. You were already _broken._ No, stay, _stay,_ listen to me. The first time you saw proof of your wild nature, the first time you realised you weren’t tame like your family members, that you weren’t the royal son they’d expected, it put a rift in your soul. It cracked you wide open.’

‘ _Stop,’_ Gwyn said, and groaned when Augus squeezed him harder, and then lightened his grip, teasing.

‘After that, you did what any animal does when it’s been injured. You ignored the injury, or buried it with leaves and muck, hoping that it would stay hidden. And you...you dumb idiot, thought you had fixed yourself. Only to find out, again and again, that the rift would not heal, and that you were a wild creature. For a while there, we had the Wild Hunt, didn’t we? You almost, _almost_ embraced it. Imagine that, your _core,_ and you still couldn’t embrace it fully.’

Augus twisted his palm over the head of Gwyn’s cock repeatedly, and the sensations were dragging him down. The water lapped gently against him. Augus’ hair was sticking to the side of his neck, curling around his shoulders.

‘You’ve never forgiven yourself for it. You’ve never been able to forgive yourself for how you betrayed yourself when you realised what you were, how you’ve continued to betray yourself ever since. Don’t pretend now, that you don’t know what I’m talking about. Should I say it? Should I tell you what you are?’

‘I...’ Gwyn didn’t know what he wanted, didn’t know what to ask for, didn’t know what he was doing, hadn’t known for a long time. Augus’ hand was undoing him, but the words were getting the job done faster. He was coming apart and there was nothing left to hold onto.

‘You made a son eat his father’s heart, and you _liked_ it. I can just imagine the shit-eating grin you had on your face because I’ve _seen_ it.’

‘ _Stop,’_ Gwyn gasped, and his hands came up, he pushed at Augus and tried to twist out of his grip. In response, Augus closed his hand punishingly around his cock until it sent a sharp pain lancing up through him, he bit down at the side of Gwyn’s neck so hard that his teeth broke skin. Gwyn froze, and seconds passed in that tense moment. Slowly Augus relaxed his grip, resumed stroking. He withdrew his teeth and lapped at the blood.

‘Still sore about it, aren’t you? You asked for absolution, but you never realised that you don’t get absolution, Gwyn. It’s not something that you get to have.’

Gwyn blinked up at the ceiling, shuddering, close to tumbling over into some abyss that he couldn’t name. He’d been near this before. He told himself – one half-hearted attempt at reassurance – that after this was over, it would go back to normal. Everything would go back to normal.

‘You don’t get absolution,’ Augus pushed his lips against Gwyn’s, breathed the words against his mouth. ‘You don’t get absolution because it’s not a _sin_ to be yourself, Gwyn.’

Gwyn’s eyes flew open, his chest heaved with a dry retch even as Augus pushed him back into the bank of the pond hard and twisted his hand in a way that promised he was better at getting Gwyn off, than Gwyn was himself. And as a litany of denial poured from his lips directly into Augus’ mouth, his back arched and his mind went blank, he came hard, fire and terror and light throbbing through him.

His eyes were shut but he could see the burst of light behind his eyelids. His pores felt split with the stuff. It was as though an electrical current was being run along his spine. He was distraught, he was supposed to keep the light under _control_ but he couldn’t concentrate and Augus’ hand was still moving on him and he was still coming, even as he wanted to flee the whole cursed Kingdom.

Augus tore his lips away from Gwyn’s and kept moving his hand well past the point that was comfortable. Gwyn shifted, tried to move Augus’ arm away, and he should have been strong enough to do it, but his limbs weren’t listening to him, he felt shattered.

‘But I’ll still break you, if you want it,’ Augus said, shifting his other hand so he could undo his own pants. He canted his hips forward until he could wrap his hand around both of them, Augus hard against him, pursuing his own pleasure even as Gwyn was over-sensitive, pained.

‘Look at you. How beautiful you are, when you cry,’ Augus said with a smirk, lapping up trails of tears that Gwyn hadn’t realised he’d been shedding. ‘Beautiful, with that light of yours, when you supernova. So when you come to your senses, how long – do you think – before you have to punish one of us because you were just being yourself? And which one of us is it going to be? I rather think you’ve got the ‘two birds, one hand’ thing figured out, if you ask me.’

Gwyn had no words left, nothing of language. He shook uncontrollably as Augus brought himself off. He wouldn’t open his eyes when Augus asked him to, not even when fingernails tightened at the base of his neck and threatened to sink into skin. There was no physical pain on the planet that would make him face the broken down mess he’d turned his life into. And the over-sensitivity, Augus’ hand on him, it was a tenuous anchor. He’d rather that, than nothing at all.

Augus sighed when he came, pressed his chest against Gwyn’s, pushed water up between them. And Gwyn wanted to ask him if he was still in any pain, if the status change had helped, if it was worth it. If any of it was _worth it._

Augus hadn’t retaliated. Hadn’t done what Gwyn had expected him to do all along, hadn’t destroyed him, as Gwyn had tried to do in turn, as Gwyn was doing to himself.

‘I fed you liver,’ Gwyn said, ‘I don’t understand you.’

Augus hushed him, twirled a lock of hair into his fingers and tugged.

‘You came to your senses. You didn’t let me die. And you are...a mess, Gwyn. I accepted my nature such a long time ago. It felt good, it probably helped that I had a brother who is – in his moments – just as bloodthirsty and vicious as I am, despite that generosity and compassion that shines out of him. But you never had that. And, indeed, the family member who you would have seen that would have reminded you of _yourself_ , was Efnisien. Whose centre has always been cruelty. And so... I believe I have you quite figured out.’

Gwyn curled forwards, exhausted. He was stunned when an arm curled around his shoulder, when fingers brushed his hair back and tucked it behind his ears.

‘Gwyn,’ Augus said, and Gwyn nodded tiredly, beyond speech.

‘Could you find out if there is a plot against my brother?’ Augus asked. ‘Efnisien had _details_ , I wouldn’t have lost control like that if he hadn’t known...things. I have to know. Ash is...Ash is not made for politics, and even as King, he could be easily deposed if the right people were plotting against him. I could do it in my _sleep._ ’

‘Ash. Yes,’ Gwyn said. ‘Okay.’

‘Gwyn?’ Augus said, something of pleasure and trepidation in his voice, an odd combination. ‘If you are going to revoke my status again, you should do it now.’

Gwyn shrank down, tried to become small and invisible. Old instincts were kicking in, his oldest instincts. Hide when there was a threat. Fight when the threat persists. Bite back if anyone got too close.

‘Ah, well,’ Augus said lazily, ‘knowing you, you’ll probably save it up for some punishment until you fuck up again and nearly kill me.’

Gwyn couldn’t think of anything to say. He didn’t want reality to come back, he didn’t want his Court, he couldn’t give it away. No one else would tolerate Augus. And others would want retribution. What would they do if they found out Augus’ status had been changed? _Why?_ They would ask, _What would possess you to do such a thing?_

‘You need this, you know,’ Augus said quietly. ‘Not all the time, but more than you get it. You sink so easily into the headspace, it is actually dangerous. In the wrong hands, _you_ could be deposed. Think about that, for a moment. With all of your skill as a King, _this_ betrays you. Your willingness to be broken down. I used to daydream about it, sometimes, when I was King. About getting you in my clutches.’

‘You are my prisoner,’ Gwyn said, shivering with something he hoped wasn’t arousal at Augus’ words, ‘I can’t just let you-’

‘Yes, you can. In controlled circumstances, under blood-oath, you _can_. You are still stronger than me. You can revoke the status at any time, can you not? Give me a real reason that I shouldn’t dig my fingers into that rift of yours, and perhaps I shall pay heed.’

Gwyn whimpered at the thought of it. He couldn’t think of anything worse and yet...

‘I’ll lose the Kingdom. I’ll-’

‘No,’ Augus said. ‘You will lose the Kingdom if you go on the way you have been going. And deep down you know that. Take it from someone who has a deep understanding of madness.’

‘You are an idiot if you think I’ll trust you in this, if you think-’

‘Yes, please don’t give me all of your trust, that would be foolish. I will find my way back to power again and you know it. Not this century. Not the next. Or perhaps maybe, I just need a the right moment to come up and present itself. It’s good that you’re worried, Gwyn. I’d be concerned for you if you weren’t. I think you’re just the right amount of scared of how much you care for me, and how much you couldn’t stop this even if you wanted to.’

Gwyn shook his head, denial and fear and longing thick in his throat. Augus’ arms tightened and lips pressed against his forehead like he might be worth something. It made Gwyn want to throw up.

‘I have to leave,’ Gwyn said, ‘There are meetings to attend, a war tribunal, and-’

‘At least you’re amusing when you’re dumb,’ Augus sighed. ‘You’ll take time out of your busy schedule to torture me, but not to sit in a lake? You will stay until I say you can leave. I don’t care if you’re stronger than me, that is what will happen. And if you try and leave, I will shove you so far down that darkness, you will never find your way out. _Ever.’_

Gwyn swallowed, shifted, knew it was true. Knew it was true from the moment he walked down into the underground prison for the first time, convinced that if he just struck hard enough, struck at the right points, he could make it so that Augus could never see into the truth of him again.

‘You just sit here,’ Augus said softly, ‘while I think of ways to dig you open under blood-oath. What will you let me do, Gwyn? How far will you let me go? I think, actually, you will let me do what I like, once I get started. I think, actually, you have no idea how much of yourself you have revealed, over the past months. The sore spaces I could stab into.’

Gwyn made a sound of dissent, nausea pressing through him. It was all coming apart. It was almost completely unravelled now. He didn’t know how to begin putting things back together again. He didn’t think admitting that he needed the help of a criminal, power-hungry, sadistic waterhorse was the first step.

He opened his eyes, stared into the shadows underneath Augus’ chin. He felt ill, unkempt, ruined. And he didn’t know what to think at the relief that lurked nearby. He didn’t want the eagerness. No creature should yearn to be broken so much, should they? He was doing everything wrong, he was-

‘If you don’t stop thinking,’ Augus said, ‘I’m going to start right now. And I’m sore. And angry. And _vengeful._ I don’t think you want me to start right now.’

Gwyn shook his head at himself, at Augus. Shook his head because Augus didn’t understand, or perhaps he did, perhaps he was just offering a fair warning.

‘Yes,’ Gwyn said,  ‘I...I think I do want you to start now.’

‘You poor, dumb animal,’ Augus laughed, ‘you have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself in for, have you?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, 'Break:'
> 
> ‘Out of all the things I imagined as a result of my imprisonment, _this_ was not one of them.’


	13. Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags new for this chapter: Cock Ring, Unconventional Cock Rings (ha!), Bloodplay, Roughness
> 
> Phew! A lot of things happened in that chapter, didn't they? And now here is a chapter that's pretty much just porn. Sorry not sorry, it is an Id Fic after all. 
> 
> Thank you guys so so much for your comments and kudoses and bookmarks and subscriptions. They make my day. My evening. Every time I get a Game Theory notification in my inbox I get unreasonably happy. :D

He felt cold and sick. He definitely had no idea what he was letting himself in for, but wasn’t that the point? He hadn’t known what he was getting himself into the first time he’d visited Augus in his cell. He’d certainly not expected his days to become filled with thoughts of what to do about his ‘situation with the waterhorse,’ and he’d not expected any of it to culminate in having to hide the unrecognisable, bloody mess of his cousin, poisoning said waterhorse with liver, almost killing him in the most excruciating way possible and then only being able to extract himself from _that_ mess by raising the waterhorse to a higher status.

He was still shivering when Augus slid his palms down Gwyn’s arms and grasped both of his hands. He squeezed and then pulled Gwyn forwards through the water, out of the lake. Gwyn swallowed. He’d asked for this, hadn’t he? He’d _asked_ for it. But Augus was a murderer, and he was stronger now, and Gwyn...

‘Out of the water. Come along, Gwyn,’ Augus said, showing few signs of having been almost mortally poisoned, aside from a fatigue in his features. His new status would really be taking hold now. Augus was _Capital_ fae, Gwyn blinked to clear his head. He couldn’t bring himself to change it, he knew he should, but he couldn’t.

Augus stepped out of the pond smoothly, and it was Gwyn who stumbled, feeling disoriented. He could feel Augus’ eyes on him as he straightened, and he refused to make eye contact. He had no idea what he’d just asked for. He had a feeling he’d accept almost anything. The worst part was there was no part of his mind large enough to shut that down. His hand flexed by his side, uselessly. He didn’t know what to do.

Augus laughed, shaking his head.

‘I don’t think you need _me,_ I think you’re doing a fine job of breaking yourself, Gwyn. Perhaps I should just leave you here and come back in an hour, after I’ve had a nap.’

Gwyn didn’t look up until the silence stretched, and when he finally did make eye contact with Augus, his breathing became shallow. There was a small smirk playing around the corners of his mouth, and his eyes were calculating. Gwyn felt like Augus wasn’t missing _anything._

‘So where should this take place, Gwyn? I have two options in mind. There’s ‘my rooms,’ as you know them. Or we can go down to my _cell,_ since we all know how much you like to fuck down there.’

Gwyn had made up his mind as soon as he’d heard the choices, but he hedged a little longer, because he thought it might look bad if he didn’t at least put on a show of thinking about it.

‘Well?’ Augus prompted, and Gwyn looked down at the mossy bank they were standing on.

‘The cell,’ Gwyn said.

He tensed when Augus walked up to him. Then held his breath when Augus placed a single, pointed fingernail between his collarbones.

‘I don’t need you in a cell to make you feel dirty, Gwyn. You should know that.’

Gwyn felt himself flush, realising only too late that Augus never had any intention of taking him down to the cell. Of course not, it wasn’t his style. He would never choose to conduct a scene somewhere like that unless he was _forced_ to. He was simply trying to gauge Gwyn’s state of mind.

‘My room, Gwyn. Now.’

The point of contact against his collarbones didn’t move, and it was all he needed to teleport them both. He didn’t think he could reach out and touch any other part of Augus, not without admitting to something he didn’t think he could admit to himself.

They dissolved into light, and Gwyn shifted them both into Augus’ room. He had to make a last minute adjustment, the furniture had been moved around slightly since he’d last been there. He looked around curiously as the light faded.

The trows must have liked Augus, since they were working fast for him, and Gwyn knew from other fae that they could drag their feet if they didn’t like someone. Gwyn realised it was a good thing that he had a significant amount of wealth, and that he hardly used any of it himself; he hadn’t expected Augus to get furniture made for himself. He recognised the quality of wood.

‘You’ve replaced the bed,’ Gwyn said, blankly.

‘You will not speak unless spoken to,’ Augus said, command laced all the way through his words despite how softly he spoke. Gwyn looked away from the new, dark oak frame, and stared at some fixed point past Augus. All of this was so familiar, even though it had been such a long time since he’d done anything like this. The last time had been with Augus. That had been _long_ before he was King. Augus liked his bed partners to concentrate, and Gwyn – as dazed as he felt – wanted to at least try.

It was while looking past Augus, that his mind unhelpfully reminded him; _You tried to kill him._

Gwyn hadn’t tried to do that, had he? He hadn’t been trying to _kill_ him. He-

He watched, wary, as Augus walked over to his new, dark oak desk and pulled out a small, well-crafted pocket knife from a drawer. The desk was new, but the pocket-knife was old. Gwyn had shoved it in another drawer in one of the many unused guest rooms and forgotten about it. The Court had given it to him years ago, as a gift for...something. As Augus approached him with the pocket knife, his heart started to skip beats, fear pooled through him. He forced himself to remain still.

Instead, Augus stopped in front of him and looked at the inside of his index finger.

‘What’s out of bounds, Gwyn?’

Gwyn remembered that Augus said, ‘in controlled circumstances, under blood-oath, you _can.’_ He hadn’t realised that Augus had meant it. A broken blood-oath meant death for almost all fae. He blinked down at the pocket-knife and his mind started racing. What didn’t he want? What was out of bounds? His mind immediately blazed an image of Efnisien’s body, torn and gored and a bloody, unconsumed _mess._

‘I...no murder. I don’t want you to kill me,’ he said, surprised at how thin his voice was.

Augus’s eyes narrowed. He stared at Gwyn hard, and Gwyn skated close enough to making eye contact to realise that Augus was checking if he was joking or not. Gwyn didn’t want to make a joke out of it, he wanted Augus to oath that he wouldn’t do it. At least not now. Not like this.

‘You want me to oath not to murder you? I suppose I did leave quite the mess for you to clean up, didn’t I?’

Gwyn said nothing, and Augus nodded as though that was an answer in and of itself.

‘Anything else?’

Gwyn scrambled to think of something. He’d forgotten all of his limits, forgotten the things he didn’t like. It had been so long since he’d been in this position. And Augus hadn’t blood-oathed not to do anything last time anyway. After all, Augus had a reputation of being dominating, of breaking people, but of also being able to put them back together again. Gwyn had left more a whole person than he’d been when he arrived. Augus didn’t do blood-oaths; people knew when they arrived that they were surrendering themselves into his care, whatever that might look like at the time.

‘Gwyn, focus,’ Augus said, a hard edge in his voice bringing him back from his drifting thoughts.

‘No permanent injury,’ Gwyn said, automatically.

‘No permanent injury,’ Augus repeated, eyebrow rising. ‘You do realise you’re the _King,_ don’t you? What, pray tell, could a Capital fae do to you, that would cause permanent injury?’

‘I’m sure you’d think of something,’ Gwyn said, and Augus’ eyes widened, and then he laughed.

‘So far we have no murder, and no permanent injury. You’re leaving me with a _lot_ left over, are you _sure_ you don’t want to add something else to the list?’

Gwyn’s breath started coming faster. He felt like he was being baited, like he _had_ missed something, but he couldn’t _think._ He squeezed his eyes shut and wracked his brain, and all he heard was static. If he could just-

He jumped when he felt that fingernail pressing between his collarbones again.

‘Too late,’ Augus whispered. ‘I rather feel like I’ve hit the jackpot.’

‘Wait,’ Gwyn said and Augus shook his head.

‘Oh no, you’ve had time to think. I’m _tired,_ and I’m not sure how generous of heart and spirit you think I am, but it’s not _that_ generous. You did just nearly poison me to death, after all.’

‘Augus-’

The fingernail pushed until it pierced his skin, and Gwyn swallowed a sound.

‘No _talking._ I haven’t asked you to speak, so you will not _speak.’_

Gwyn bit the inside of his lower lip and watched as Augus withdrew his fingernail from Gwyn’s skin and unsnicked the pocket-knife. The slow, up and down look he gave Gwyn’s body while holding it sent a cold chill down Gwyn’s spine. But seconds later Augus cut the inside of his own index finger. He looked at the blood speculatively as he tossed the knife onto the bed with a careless motion.

The oath that Augus then made was simple but covered all bases, and even though Gwyn knew that blood-oaths weren’t foolproof, he felt a small wash of relief all the same. The relief was short-lived when Augus critically looked at the state Gwyn was in, and Gwyn abruptly realised that everything outside of murder and permanent injury was still fair game.  

‘You’re still clothed. That’s going to be a problem, I’m afraid.’

He walked forwards and dug his fingers into the top of Gwyn’s damp shirt, open at the laces, and then sunk his fingernails in and ripped it cleanly down the middle. He tugged the damp material off, letting it fall limply to the ground. He stayed behind Gwyn and then drummed a pattern with his fingernails on Gwyn’s upper shoulder. It paused, and then the rhythm started again. It wound Gwyn up inside, and he tried to even out his breathing. Augus hadn’t even _started_ anything yet, not really.

‘Take your pants off,’ Augus said, and Gwyn’s hands twitched. He moved to untie the fastenings. They were wet, he had to practically peel them off his body. Halfway through, claws sunk deep into his shoulder and then raked furrows down the side of his back. Gwyn gasped as pain lanced through him, he felt blood pool and then trickle down his side.

‘Faster, next time,’ Augus said, and Gwyn tensed when he realised that Augus wasn’t moving, could easily scratch him again. He tugged his pants off the rest of the way and stepped out of them.

Hands placed themselves flat on his back, over his ribs. Augus’ touch was sure, and even after prolonged exposure to the cool pond water, his skin was warm. It made Gwyn realise that his own body temperature had dropped. He usually ran hotter than Augus did.

One of the hands smoothed down his skin. Fingers reached out and stemmed the flow of Gwyn’s blood. Gwyn listened, staring ahead with wide eyes, as Augus brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked the blood off of them. If he wasn’t so cold, if he hadn’t just come, he would have started to get aroused by that. Instead he felt a tentative curl of heat shift through his gut. It ached inside of him.

Augus moved his fingers back to the slowing flow of blood and collected more of it up on his fingers, coating them liberally. He then walked around Gwyn and faced him again.

‘Open your mouth,’ Augus said, a dark, hungry expression on his face.

Gwyn knew what was coming, he couldn’t _not._ It was Augus, after all.

He opened his mouth, and Augus raised blood-coated fingers up and made sure Gwyn could see them. But Gwyn wasn’t intimidated by his own blood, and he would never tell Augus, couldn’t, but he wanted his fingers inside his mouth. He wanted that very much.

‘Perhaps you could pretend that it’s the blood from that father you murdered. You know the one, don’t you? The father you murdered and then forced his son to eat?’

Gwyn blinked in shock, made a sound of horror, tensed to move away. Augus – using the same speed that Gwyn had used when shoving the piece of liver down Augus’ throat – stepped forward quickly and lashed his hand through Gwyn’s hair, pulling tight, while shoving two of his blood-stained fingers so deep into Gwyn’s mouth, that Gwyn felt those wickedly sharp fingernails press against the back of his throat.

His throat closed around Augus’ fingertips, he couldn’t help the involuntary response, he choked, trying to remember to keep his mouth open, to not snap down accidentally. Augus chuckled and pressed deeper, and Gwyn’s breath rushed out through his nose in a hiss. Augus’ fingernails were grazing the back of his throat, and it was uncomfortable. Not because of the sensation itself, but because Augus could scrape deep furrows into the back of Gwyn’s throat if he wanted to, it wouldn’t cause permanent injury, it wasn’t covered by the blood-oath.

‘Are you remembering that time, back then? What drove you to me in the first place?’ Augus said, and Gwyn moaned in protest. He didn’t _want_ to.

He could taste his own blood; burnt metal and coppery tang. It tasted like a wasteland he hadn’t visited in a long, long time, charred black and still carrying the smell of fire centuries later. Augus had brought something dangerous close to the surface and Gwyn shut his eyes and tried to focus, tried to concentrate.

The fingers in his hair tightened. The claws at the back of his throat were leisurely, threateningly stroking. Gwyn’s mouth was filling with saliva, and he swallowed it down, sucking absently as he did so. At that, Augus hummed approval, and Gwyn exhaled hard through his nose as he sucked harder, tongue moving up hesitantly to push up into the crease between Augus’ fingers.

His mind began to empty. The pain he felt from the furrows in his back fell away, his hands flexed at his sides.

Augus left his fingers there until they almost clean. When he slid them out of Gwyn’s mouth, pressing hard against Gwyn’s tongue as he went, Gwyn found himself leaning forwards to make sure they didn’t leave. Augus breathed a sound of amusement and withdrew his fingers just enough that he could add a third, before shoving them back into Gwyn’s mouth. The fingers stretched and plunged deep and Gwyn gagged, and then he made a broken, pained sound when Augus used the hand at the back of his head to force Gwyn’s head forwards, made him take his fingers even deeper.

It took Gwyn a full minute to gain control of his reflexes, and then he was able to work his tongue again, able to apply suction. And at that, Augus’ hand loosened in his hair, and then stroked through his curls. It was a reward, it sent warmth through his scalp and made his jaw relax further. He sighed at that, he hadn’t expected rewards. He didn’t think Augus would be in the mood. He didn’t even know if he wanted him to be. But in the moment, he felt surrounded by Augus, and that wasn’t a terrible thing.

It should have been though, he knew that much.

Augus withdrew his fingers and held his hand up by Gwyn’s mouth, and Gwyn licked the rest of the blood off, keeping his eyes downcast as he did so. This part was easy. He was sure there would be other parts he wouldn’t enjoy nearly as much. But this? He didn’t need to be told to do this.

When Augus was satisfied, he curled his fingers briefly around the side of Gwyn’s face.

‘Kneel,’ Augus whispered.

Gwyn paused, not because he didn’t want to, but because he was overwhelmed with how much he wanted it. If Augus was intending what Gwyn thought he might be, Gwyn was going to reveal something about himself he didn’t want to. Not now. Not with Augus as his prisoner and Gwyn trying to hang onto any semblance of dignity that he had left.

‘If I have to ask you again, I will _hurt_ you,’ Augus said. His hand reached up, fingernails promising, and Gwyn sank to his knees without another thought.

Augus was peeling himself out of his clothing, dropping it to the floor. He was fully erect, but he ignored Gwyn, on his knees, and walked over to a dark oak wardrobe – also new – and drew out an olive-green shirt. It was long-sleeved, and didn’t button up down the middle; far more casual than what Gwyn was used to seeing Augus normally wear. He wondered if it was the kind of clothing that Augus wore when he knew he wasn’t going to be doing anything important.

And that thought, unexpectedly, made Gwyn cringe.

When Augus walked back, he stood only a short distance away from Gwyn, looking down at him. Gwyn flushed hot, because it was hard to ignore the fact that Augus was fully erect and it was _extremely_ hard to ignore the fact that his mouth was already flooding with saliva. He hoped...he didn’t dare hope. Augus placed his hands on his hips and cleared his throat.

‘I’m not usually quite this crude. But, Gwyn, _get to it.’_

_Yes,_ Gwyn’s mind shouted, but he held himself back, swallowing spasmodically.

‘How?’ he asked.

‘How what?’ Augus said, eyes widening, as though he hadn’t expected the question.

‘How do you want it?’

Fast? Slow? Teasing? _What?_ Gwyn refused to lick his lips, he was worried that if he appeared too eager, Augus would stop. After all, this wasn’t supposed to be about Gwyn getting what he wanted, was it? Gwyn had done something terrible. Had done _many_ terrible things. His heart was beating too fast, he thought that if he were better in this role, if he were better at submitting, he’d own up to how much he wanted to do this, he’d give Augus the choice to withdraw what he was offering.

‘How do I...I _want_ you to choke on it, actually.’

Gwyn looked up and made eye contact with Augus, surprised to see the depth of anger on his face. He hoped that his eagerness wasn’t obvious, because this was definitely _not_ supposed to be a good thing. He shivered when he realised what Augus was paying him back for. Gwyn couldn’t bring himself to regret doing what he did to Augus, in this. Each noise and tremor ripped from Augus’ body as he had made himself take more of Gwyn down his throat, were ones that Gwyn savoured and thought about later.

The idea that he could instead savour the feeling of Augus’ cock in his mouth instead was dizzying. Augus hadn’t done this when Gwyn had visited him, all that time ago. And Gwyn didn’t offer it to many people because Kings were just supposed to be _better_ than that, weren’t they?

‘Aren’t you going to tie me up?’ Gwyn said, confused.

‘No,’ Augus said, ‘you _asked_ me for this. Why? Worried you’ll run? Rest assured, Gwyn, you always have to come back to your palace, and I’ll be waiting for you. Let’s not imagine how much worse things will be if you _run._ ’

Gwyn nodded absently.

‘Now, what was it you said to me? Let me see if I can remember,’ Augus said, pretending that he couldn’t. ‘Ah yes, that’s it. ‘I’m going all the way in. And if you get a sore throat because of it, then maybe it will shut you up for a few days.’’

Augus stepped forwards and rubbed his cock against the side of Gwyn’s face, and Gwyn felt his skin crawl with gooseflesh, felt his hands fist by his sides to stop himself from rushing. He was not supposed to be _eager._ And besides, he hadn’t done this in so long. He didn’t doubt it would be difficult. But he didn’t mind difficult.

‘One more thing,’ Augus said, staring down at him. ‘If I pull your teeth out, will they grow back?’

Gwyn felt his blood run cold.

‘I...don’t know.’

‘Tsk. Then don’t _bite_ me.’

Gwyn closed his eyes. He brought a hand up to wrap around the base of Augus’ cock, only to find his wrist caught in a tight grip.

‘Oh no, why allow that common courtesy? Mouth only, Gwyn.’

Gwyn exhaled slowly. Augus smelled water-clean against his face, as fresh as the pond-water they’d just exited. A hot brand was creeping up his spine, vertebrae by vertebrae, until it reached the base of his neck and his face flushed dark. Augus hadn’t released his wrist, and Gwyn found he didn’t want him to. His hand was shaking, and he wondered if Augus was looking at that, or if he was looking down at what Gwyn was about to do.

He opened his mouth and allowed the head of Augus’ cock to rest on his tongue. He closed his mouth around it experimentally and sucked, knowing he should go faster, but he found himself unexpectedly shy. Augus tasted good; fresh and green and musky all at the same time.

Augus reached up with his free hand and threaded fingers through the hair at the base of Gwyn’s skull, and Gwyn tensed – couldn’t help it – because if _he_ were Augus in the same position, he would-

Augus pressed forwards with his hips at the same time that he dragged Gwyn forward by the curls of his hair. And Gwyn made his jaw hang open, tried to relax for it, but then cried out in shock when Augus didn’t wait at the barrier of his throat and simply angled down and pushed _harder._

Gwyn gagged, his eyes flew open and he looked at Augus, only to see Augus smiling down at him in an entirely unfriendly way. Augus was still pushing, he was going too _fast._ Even Gwyn had waited, initially, before pushing further. But Augus was having none of it, and Gwyn’s throat was forced open.

‘Take it, Gwyn,’ Augus purred, and Gwyn choked as Augus pushed painfully against the back of his throat, using an involuntary swallow to bottom out until Gwyn’s nose was pressed against Augus’ pelt of pubic hair and he felt paralysed. He couldn’t control his gag reflex, and his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to concentrate on it. If he had been allowed to go at his own pace this wouldn’t have been a problem. He felt panic rising up in him as he struggled for air. At the same time, his body betrayed him. He was growing hard again.

He raised his free hand up to Augus’ hip, and Augus immediately reached down as though to remove it. But then he seemed to realise that Gwyn wasn’t trying to push him away, wasn’t trying to gain purchase for himself. Gwyn wanted the contact, he just had to master his panic and relax his throat, but his body wasn’t listening. If he could just catch his breath and find his own rhythm. His instincts were taking over. He couldn’t _breathe._

Augus withdrew, enough that Gwyn could catch his breath through his nose. He did so in staccato hiccups, blinking tears out of his eyes. It had been too long. This was embarrassing. He wanted to be _good_ for Augus, not _this._

He remained absurdly grateful that Augus didn’t withdraw all the way. His fingers scraped shallowly against Augus’ skin, at his hip, reminding himself that Augus was there. The voices in his head that told him he should be shutting this down, he should take Augus back down to underfae status and make him stay there...they had disappeared.

Gwyn’s breathing evened out, finally. His fingers were rhythmically flexing and releasing where they rested on Augus’ waist and in Augus’ grip on his wrist. He didn’t want to wait until Augus pulled him back again, he wanted to prove that he could do it. Augus had taken him by surprise, but this used to be something he could do.

He moved the hand on Augus’ hip around until he could actually pull Augus forwards. He breathed carefully out through his nose, took a breath and allowed his aching throat to open. He choked much less this time around and his shoulders shuddered in relief. Because he didn’t want this to be a punishment even though it should have been. Because he didn’t want to forget how good this could be.

When Augus bottomed out again, Gwyn sucked hesitantly, focusing hard on coordinating himself and feeling each one of his thoughts falling further and further away.

He flinched when Augus trailed fingers up the back of Gwyn’s head. And Augus paused at that for a few seconds, then continued until he’d reached Gwyn’s hairline at his forehead. Then he lowered his fingers and started again. Gwyn moaned in the back of his throat, because he didn’t want Augus to stop, but he didn’t know what Augus was planning either. He doubted it was anything like kindness. But Augus didn’t stop running his fingers soothingly over the back of Gwyn’s head, and Gwyn got tired of waiting for whatever Augus was planning.

When breath was starting to become an issue he withdrew just enough to take a breath, and then he started a tentative rhythm, keeping his throat open and sucking hard every time he withdrew. He didn’t have much room to move his tongue, but he tried.

Augus seemed happy to let Gwyn find his own rhythm, though he did push hard on the downstroke, and Gwyn knew the back of his throat was bruised. It was already grazed where Augus had scraped his fingernails. The pain didn’t bother him. It helped him stay present, and he didn’t mind _this_ kind of overwhelmed. He sped up and wished he could preserve Augus’ sudden uptick in breathing so that he could remember that later.

He moaned thickly when everything seemed to coalesce into a perfect moment. Augus’ cock deep in his throat, his breathing working to a rhythm, saliva pooling in his mouth and Augus’ hand wrapped around his wrist, squeezing tighter, more helpful than Augus could possibly know.

And then the moment was shattered. Augus let go of Gwyn’s wrist and gripped the back of his head in a punishing grip. He withdrew completely and Gwyn coughed, opened tear-filled eyes.

‘Are you enjoying yourself?’ Augus said, eyes narrowing. ‘You _are!’_

_I’m sorry,_ Gwyn didn’t say. He couldn’t bring himself to apologise for it. His mouth felt empty and he wasn’t _finished_ yet and Augus had interrupted him and Augus...

Augus looked angry.

‘I’m sorry,’ Gwyn said, voice hoarse. Augus’ eyes widened. Gwyn didn’t want to see what was coming next, so he looked down at Augus’ chest instead, and noted with some satisfaction that Augus was breathing unevenly, raggedly. He’d been doing well, he thought, and it was good to see a sign of that.

‘You’re _sorry,’_ Augus said, and Gwyn averted his eyes completely, looked at a different point in the room. What was he even _doing?_ He was the King of the Seelie fae, he shouldn’t be on his knees _apologising_ for enjoying sucking someone’s cock. And certainly not his _prisoner’s._ He leaned backwards to push himself away and Augus’ hands tightened in his hair, holding him still.

‘Where did you learn _that,_ I wonder? I certainly didn’t teach you,’ Augus said, some deeply mocking tone in his voice that made Gwyn press his eyes shut. He was still teary from the blow job, he hoped, because he didn’t want it to be from anything else.

‘Swallow me like that again, we’re not done yet,’ Augus said, and Gwyn hesitated. He hadn’t wanted Augus to know that he liked it, precisely because Augus would use it against him. This wasn’t something Gwyn wanted to feel ashamed of, not any more than he already did, anyway.

‘ _Now,’_ Augus said, his voice turning hard. Gwyn nodded and then opened his mouth, only gagging once when Augus bottomed out in his throat. He went to withdraw, to pick up his rhythm, but Augus stopped him with both of his hands on the back of Gwyn’s head. The palm of one of his hands dropped down to his shoulder and Augus breathed out laughter.

‘Oh, Gwyn, you’re positively shaking. Didn’t want me to find this out, did you? Was it a _secret?_ The cat’s out of the bag, I’m afraid.’

Gwyn made a thin sound of protest, and Augus groaned as the sound hummed through him.

‘You are far, far better at this, than you are at fucking,’ Augus breathed, loosening his grip on the back of Gwyn’s head and allowing Gwyn to find his rhythm again. Gwyn found it more reluctantly this time, wishing that he could disappear. But as he continued, the worst of his shame evaporated and he brought both of his hands back up to Augus’ hips. He dared to curve them round and brush the top of Augus’ ass. At that, Augus bucked down his throat, his breathing hitched.

‘I hope you realise that I can’t ever learn to be as good at this as you are, Gwyn. Because I wasn’t _made for it,_ like you were.’

Gwyn was sure it was meant to be insulting, but he wasn’t insulted. It meant he was doing _good_ again, and Augus hadn’t asked him to stop, and he just wanted to keep going – as long as it took – until Augus spent himself down Gwyn’s throat. He didn’t even care about how hard he was, that was secondary, it was background noise. He just wanted this.

He couldn’t stop the sound of protest he made when Augus withdrew again. He was still dizzy, and he bowed over to catch his breath. Even though he had found a rhythm he liked, he was still deprived of air. He brought a hand up and wiped saliva away, it had bubbled at the edges of his mouth, he had started drooling. He wanted to continue, but Augus had already stepped away from him. Gwyn knew then that things weren’t over.

He was still focusing on catching his breath when Augus kicked him over onto his side, rolled him over onto his back, and then lowered his bare foot onto Gwyn’s chest, staring down at him. Gwyn looked up, swallowed. He started to bring his elbows underneath himself to lift himself up and Augus pressed down harder, then leaned over his knee, lowering more of his weight onto Gwyn.

Gwyn stared up, unable to move. And when Augus leaned his weight even further, compressing Gwyn’s chest so that he could lower an arm and trace the shape of his swollen lips, Gwyn felt breathless.

‘Some King you are,’ Augus said, as smoothly as though he were offering everyday conversation. ‘Did you imagine yourself like this when you dealt with Efnisien’s body? Is imagining taking cock what makes things easier for you?’

Gwyn shifted to get up, finding Augus’ vulgar words disturbing, it was a return to reality far more painful than it should have been. Augus slapped him, the pain stinging and mocking.

‘Don’t _move,’_ Augus hissed. ‘I’m not done with you yet. Not nearly.’

He slipped two fingers into Gwyn’s shocked mouth and mimed the rhythm that Gwyn had established only minutes ago. The last thing Gwyn saw as he closed his eyes, unable to keep looking into Augus’ confident, green gaze, was the smirk.

‘If you weren’t King, I could rip your jaw off, like this,’ Augus said softly. ‘It’s what I did to your cousin. You should have heard the sound it made.’

Fear powered through him as he imagined it. He felt his cock go limp, felt all the relaxation he’d managed to find for himself chased out of his body. He sucked on Augus’ fingers automatically, meekly, hoped Augus was feeling merciful while doubting he ever would again. It frightened him, that Augus knew Gwyn feared him. Augus was at his most dangerous when he had figured someone else out, and then used that knowledge with his own gains in mind.

‘And you, _King,_ lying on the ground, sucking my fingers like you were born for this and nothing else. How long have you known that you enjoy this? And why are you always hiding these things from me? This would have made our Wild Hunts _so_ entertaining.’

Gwyn made a sound, shook his head. Augus’ fingers in his mouth were surprisingly gentle. They went deep, but there was no force. They stroked at his tongue. Tickled the roof of his mouth. When they rubbed at the side of his gums, Gwyn sighed out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. It was unexpected, Augus treating him like this. It suddenly didn’t matter what he was saying, or that it was hard to draw full breaths with Augus’ foot compressing his chest the way it did. It felt good.

Augus withdrew his fingers and wiped the saliva off on the side of Gwyn’s face. He stepped back and looked over at the bed, and looked back at Gwyn with a promising expression.

‘Get up,’ Augus said. ‘On the bed.’

Gwyn got up slowly, and his eyes drifted over to the pocket-knife that was resting on the sheets where Augus had tossed it. Augus followed the line of his gaze and he shrugged.

‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘But as your back can attest, I don’t need a pocket-knife.’

Gwyn hesitated before getting on the bed, and when Augus stepped towards him, Gwyn stepped back, worried. _Not fast enough._

‘Gwyn...’ Augus said, smiling wider, showing a hint of teeth. ‘Get on the bed, _now.’_

‘This is far enough,’ Gwyn said, his voice ragged from the throat fucking. ‘This has gone far enough.’

‘No,’ Augus said, striding forwards and backhanding Gwyn hard across his cheekbone. Hard enough that Gwyn’s head flashed with pain. ‘I did not tell you that you could _speak.’_

Augus grabbed Gwyn by his hair and applied an astounding amount of force, dragging Gwyn bodily towards the bed. Gwyn’s hands came up as he took an unwanted step in the direction of the bed, but Augus lifted his other hand and swiped sharp nails down the side of his arm, splitting the skin. Between the pain in his head and his arm, the disorientation, Gwyn found himself pulled onto the bed. He could have used his light against Augus, he _should_ have, but Augus reminding him that he wasn’t supposed to speak was dropping him back into submission again.

‘You don’t know the meaning of _far enough,’_ Augus said coldly, ‘Get on your hands and knees. And without the _token_ dissent _,_ this time, please.’

Gwyn felt himself flush all the way down to his chest as he pushed himself up into position, feeling horribly exposed. Blood was running down the side of his arm, trailing down his wrist.

‘Are you worried about me fucking you?’ Augus said, getting off the bed and pulling a vial of lubricant out of his top drawer. Gwyn realised it was one of his. He wondered just how many things Augus had been appropriating into this room. ‘You should be. Don’t think I’m not feeling especially reproving, with you constantly disobeying me.’

Augus moved gracefully back onto the bed. He hadn’t removed his shirt, and Gwyn realised he probably wasn’t going to. He hadn’t stripped down fully the first time he’d taken control of Gwyn, and when Gwyn had commented on it at the time, Augus had only laughed.

When Augus smoothed his hands over Gwyn’s back, Gwyn cut off a sound in his mouth. Augus curved his hands around Gwyn’s ass, digging his fingers into the back of his thighs, scraping with his nails.

He trailed one of his arms down further, and then Gwyn startled when he felt something wet and cold coil over his calf. He turned around, looked behind him, and was surprised to see a snake of waterweed knot around his calf and then attach itself to the bedpost. That was a direct result of the status shift. Augus hadn’t been able to use his waterweed as underfae. Gwyn swallowed, and Augus stroked the waterweed quietly.

‘I thought you said you wouldn’t tie me up,’ Gwyn said, and Augus hissed.

‘What did I tell you?’

Gwyn swallowed, he dropped his head. Why did he keep doing this?

‘Oh no,’ Augus said, uncapping the vial. ‘That was a question. _Answer_ me.’

‘Only speak when spoken to,’ Gwyn said. His arms weren’t shaking, they _weren’t_ shaking. He felt deeply uncomfortable, and he dropped his head further, wishing that his hair was longer like it used to be, so it could hide his face. Guilt crawled back through him, a thick ooze that ended in the back of his throat. It was becoming harder to hold himself up for Augus, knowing what was coming. He wanted to shut everything down, and yet...

His eyes widened when he felt slick fingers tracing over his entrance.

‘You make it hard to know what to do, sometimes,’ Augus said, pushing Gwyn’s legs apart further and kneeling between them, circling the rim of Gwyn’s entrance. ‘You elevated me to Capital fae, which is the only reason I can tie you up with the waterweed. You tried to kill me, which is the only reason you elevated me to Capital fae. I don’t think you understand quite how much it hurts, eating that liver, especially as underfae. And you’ve done it before, you said? To the Ceffyl Dwr? Shame on you.’

Gwyn’s mouth dropped open on a gasp as Augus’ finger breached him and then slid in; one easy, swift movement that made Gwyn see sparks. He wanted to remind Augus that he might not have understood before, but he had a fair idea. That had been one of the most difficult things he’d experienced, watching Augus go through that, knowing _he’d_ been responsible. It had been so difficult to witness, he’d made a decision that would get his Kingship removed sooner rather than later, he was sure. His stupid decisions were why they were in this mess in the first place.

Augus slid his finger all the way out and then returned with two. It was too fast, and Gwyn hissed at the stretch of it. It had been a very long time since he had allowed anyone to fuck him. And the last time, he’d been so blind drunk that he could hardly remember the experience, except that he’d been sore and alone when he’d woken up.

‘You are practically unused,’ Augus said quietly, smoothing his other hand over Gwyn’s lower back. ‘Do you remember our first time down in the cell? I was practically unused then too, and you didn’t care.’

_No,_ Gwyn thought, tensing helplessly. Augus’ fingers curled inside of him, and Gwyn didn’t feel good, wasn’t turned on. He just felt...invaded. He dropped down to his elbows and then choked when Augus pressed threatening nails up inside of him.

‘ _Up,’_ Augus said, and Gwyn pushed himself back up onto his hands immediately.

It wasn’t that Gwyn minded rough-handling, he really didn’t. It was the position, it was that Augus still had his shirt on and Gwyn could feel it every time Augus pressed closer and the material brushed against his skin. It was that he’d seen the carnage that Augus had left behind when he’d killed Efnisien, and it didn’t matter that Efnisien was disliked or that it had been justifiable. It was easy, sometimes, to forget how dangerous Augus could be. And now, with Augus’ fingers inside of him, he couldn’t forget.

‘Always thinking too much,’ Augus said, ‘how ironic.’

Augus’ fingers crooked and then began to move in a steady, firm rhythm. Gwyn blinked down at the bed, at the blood soaked into dark green sheets, turning it black. The movement was hypnotic, unchanging. It moved through him, sent sensation curling up through his spine. He locked his arms into place and his breathing started to shift in response.

‘Just like that,’ Augus said, approving. ‘Just like that, Gwyn.’

Gwyn made a wet, deep sound in response. The coldness inside of him was eroding, being washed away.

The movement of Augus’ fingers continued, repetitive and hypnotic, easy to focus on. Gwyn felt his back begin to bow, and his breath shivered out of him when Augus leaned closer, looping his arm around Gwyn’s chest and placing his palm over his heart, monitoring the beat. Augus made a satisfied sound behind him, and after a minute, moved the flat of his hand over Gwyn’s nipple, and then repeated the gesture slowly, in counterpoint to the thrusts of his fingers. Gwyn gasped, and then forced his mouth shut, not wanting to betray himself any further.

‘You don’t know what you want, do you?’ Augus said. He began to deliberately stretch Gwyn out, and Gwyn’s jaw tensed, his fingers fisted into the sheets beneath. ‘Here you are, wanting to be broken. Not wanting to be broken. You want to be punished, and yet you don’t. I can’t help but feel that if I did one or the other, you’d be disappointed with me.’

Gwyn shook his head, remembering that he shouldn’t speak, but wanting to let Augus know that he was absurdly grateful, that this was wiping so many of his thoughts away.

‘Gwyn,’ Augus laughed, ‘it can be both, you know. I can do both. Did you know that?’

Augus withdrew his fingers and Gwyn wanted to rest his head on the sheets so badly, he wanted to lower himself down to his forearms and not think anymore, but Augus had said _Up,_ and so Gwyn was trying to do that. His arms were shaking. It occurred to him that he was tired. He’d been tired before he’d even found Augus over Efnisien, growling hungrily like the unearthly monster that he was. He’d been putting off sleep. He hated sleeping. There were always nightmares.

‘You remember this part, don’t you?’ Augus said, pressing himself, slick and hard against Gwyn’s entrance. ‘Tell me what happened when I first fucked myself into you, all that time ago.’

Gwyn’s weight canted as he lifted one of his arms and covered his face with his hand.

‘I bled,’ Gwyn said, remembering how Augus had switched from gentle to rough in the blink of an eye, ripping a scream from his gut as Augus had pushed deeper than anyone else ever had. After all, before Augus, he’d only ever let one other person do that to him.

‘You did,’ Augus said, stroking Gwyn’s hips with long fingers. ‘You loved it. Eventually.’

Gwyn nodded behind the dark space of his hot palm and then lowered his hand again, bracing himself.

‘I’ve already bled you this time,’ Augus said, and Gwyn’s forehead furrowed. ‘I don’t need to do it again.’

Gwyn’s eyes flew open when Augus eased into him with a slow, deliberate pressure. It was nothing like the last time. Augus’ fingers were drawing Gwyn back, he pushed forward. Halfway through, he arched over Gwyn and wrapped fingers around his shoulder, pulling harder. He didn’t stop until he was fully seated, and then he tugged at the curls at the base of Gwyn’s neck while Gwyn shook and adjusted and didn’t think he was worth this patience and couldn’t stop the racing of his mind. He made a short, distressed sound, and Augus murmured something behind him, before shifting against him.

‘Relax,’ Augus said. ‘Relax your arms.’

Gwyn’s elbows buckled and his shoulders sank towards the bed, he gasped as Augus settled behind him, easing deeper as the angle changed.

‘Out of all the things I imagined as a result of my imprisonment, _this_ was not one of them.’

Augus draped his weight over Gwyn’s back and placed arms by his shoulders, experimentally rolling his hips. Gwyn pushed his face into the sheets to hide the sound that rippled out of him.

‘I find,’ Augus said, ‘I’m quite tired. Funny how almost being poisoned to death will do that to someone. Did you know?’ Augus rolled his hips again, and then snapped them forwards, punching the breath out of Gwyn’s lungs. ‘If you had forced me to eat any more, the status change wouldn’t have been enough. What do you think of that?’

Gwyn hung onto the question as Augus started a slow, flowing rhythm that stayed deep, making him painfully aware of the position he was in, of Augus surrounding him, inside of him.

‘I’m sor-’

‘No,’ Augus said, ‘I heard about a hundred of those while I was in the lake. You’re _sorry._ I’d better not let myself think about that too much, or I’ll get angry again.’

Augus lifted slightly and sped up, and Gwyn’s whole body became a mass of warmth. There was almost no pain, just Augus demonstrating that six months in a cell, and further months being subjugated to Gwyn’s idea of fucking, hadn’t damaged his own sensibilities in the least. Augus was able to roll himself against Gwyn’s prostate with almost every shift of his hips, and Gwyn felt pleasure start in his lower back and stretch out all the way through him, until he was leaking precome onto the sheets and rhythmically fisting his hands into the fabric in time with Augus’ movements.

His hips began shifting back in concert with Augus’, and when Augus encouraged him to spread his legs further, Gwyn did so unthinkingly, moaning deep at the stretch in his thighs and the growing, sharpening ache inside of himself.

‘Close?’ Augus breathed, and Gwyn nodded.

‘I’m so surprised,’ Augus said, a sweet sarcasm making Gwyn’s lips lift into a half-smile where they were pressed into sheets that were far higher quality than his.

Augus stilled, deep inside of him, and Gwyn made a sound of frustration.

But Augus only reached his hand around and trailed his fingers up Gwyn’s cock, teasing.

‘You raised me up to Capital fae,’ Augus purred. ‘I have more of my powers back. You want to see a trick?’

Gwyn’s eyes snapped open. Augus mentioning the word trick while his fingers were against his cock could not be a good thing. He tensed, something cold chased its way into his lungs.

‘Look what I can do now,’ Augus whispered, just as Gwyn felt panic slam into his mind. He bucked as something cold and rubbery slid around the base of his cock and cinched tight. And Augus was telling him to calm down, to stop panicking, that it was just a rather creatively made cock-ring, and it was only once Gwyn heard those words and connected it to the feeling around himself that he slumped back down, panting.

‘ _What_ did you think I was going to do?’ Augus said, sounding perturbed. Gwyn looked between his legs and saw the thin strand of waterweed wrapped around the base of his cock. He hated cock-rings at the best of times. He should have known Augus was going to do something like this.

‘Nothing,’ Gwyn said, frustrated.

He’d assumed the worst, and the fear had broadsided into him and left him disoriented.

‘Does it have anything to do with the fact that earlier I brutally murdered your cousin? And now you’ve increased my powers, and you’ve let me inside you? Is that it?’

Gwyn was shaking, he felt weak. Augus had peeled back too many layers, and there wasn’t much left of himself that Gwyn felt was his alone. Whatever was left, Gwyn didn’t really want anyway.

Augus resumed moving again, _still_ hard. Gwyn shook his head, pressed his forearms close. He’d over-reacted, he’d _panicked._ One moment everything had been going along so well and the next...

‘That monster threatened my family,’ Augus said, ‘He deserved what he got, and you can’t tell me you’re even a little bit sorry that he’s dead. You’re only sorry you had to do the dirty work afterwards.’

‘Take it off,’ Gwyn said, referring to the cock-ring, and grit his teeth together when Augus laughed.

‘Did I give you permission to speak? No. I think I’ll leave it on for longer now.’

Gwyn growled in pure annoyance, and scowled into the bed when it only made Augus laugh harder.

After that, Gwyn was done for. Augus sat upright again and grasped Gwyn’s hips with his hands, digging his nails in just enough that they were points of pain, not quite cutting through skin. Augus moved with an easy confidence, nowhere near close to coming while clearly interested in pulling the fastest reaction out of Gwyn that he possibly could.

And Gwyn felt himself swell against the restrictive, rubbery weed. Felt the moment that peaking pleasure turned into intensity and discomfort and almost, _almost_ release _,_ and then nothing happened. He swore into the sheets and reached a hand between his legs to remove the waterweed himself, because Augus hadn’t said he couldn’t do _that,_ only for Augus to grab his hand and lace his fingers between Gwyn’s in a mockery of affection.

‘Oh, Gwyn, were you going to jack yourself off? Was that it? Here, let me help you.’

He wrapped Gwyn’s hand and his own around Gwyn’s cock, and Gwyn shouted at the hypersensitivity of Augus increasing the pressure of both of their hands and then starting a rhythm that moved in syncopation to his own thrusting hips. Gwyn tried to tug his hand away, but Augus had the benefit of not being nearly as disoriented on his side. Gwyn’s whole body felt like it was overheating, his limbs felt weak. He was sure he would have come by now, at least once, and Augus wasn’t letting up.

‘Augus,’ Gwyn said, turning his face to the side and panting to catch his breath. His face felt like it was on fire.

‘Hmm?’ Augus said, and Gwyn whined as the sensations inside of himself began to escalate again. Gwyn’s hand went lax against himself, in a bid to slow down the rise in intensity, but Augus only responded to that by tightening his own fingers and moving faster against Gwyn’s cock, chuckling. ‘Is this a problem?’

_Fuck you, Augus._ Gwyn thumped his forehead down into the pillow and clawed at the sheets so hard that they pulled up from the mattress.

‘It’s funny,’ Augus said, rubbing his thumb over the head of Gwyn’s cock repeatedly, until Gwyn cried out. ‘I’m fucking you, I’m jacking you off, I’m really trying to be _quite_ considerate, and here you haven’t come yet. This is so unlike you.’

‘ _Augus,’_ Gwyn groaned, and Augus used the hand on Gwyn’s hip to pull him back sharply, humming in approval when Gwyn made a noise in the back of his throat that would have been a sob, if he hadn’t caught it in time.

Pleasure was building into something pained and uncomfortable. It shot lances of heat through his nerves, ended in flashes of light behind his eyelids. It was getting harder to catch his breath, and when Augus dropped his head down and trailed damp hair down Gwyn’s back, Gwyn sobbed at how oversensitised he was becoming. He couldn’t handle this. It was already too much.

‘ _Please,’_ he said, and Augus didn’t stop moving his hand, didn’t stop undulating his hips. ‘Please, Augus, please, please, _please.’_

‘So soon?’ Augus said, ‘But there’s so many favours I haven’t even returned yet. For example, remember the times you did _this_ to me?’

Augus dug his fingertip into the slit of Gwyn’s cock, and stars burst in front of Gwyn’s eyes, he screamed as he was torn down a line balanced only barely between pain and pleasure. Augus chuckled darkly behind him, though more breathless than before. For a moment, his rhythm faltered, though he resumed it again a moment later.

‘I can see why you find _that_ one so satisfying. What pretty sounds you make,’ Augus purred, and Gwyn pressed his face hard into the mattress, sobbing.

‘I wish your Court could see you, right now,’ Augus said wistfully. ‘Can you imagine? I bet they’d all be shocked at first, and then I would place money that more than half would want to fuck you for themselves, seeing how red you got, the sounds dour, stoic Gwyn could make when he finally got a cock inside of him.’

Gwyn was sketching out long syllables of sound. He held the bunched up sheets he’d dragged half off the mattress up by his head, wanting it over. He turned his face to the side once more, needing several tries to remember language.

‘ _Augus, please.’_

‘You _do_ feel a little wound up,’ Augus said, and just as Gwyn started to feel a wave of relief to hear that considerate tone, he heard Augus cheerfully amend his statement with: ‘Soon.’

‘No,’ Gwyn said hoarsely, trying to yank his hand out of Augus’ grip, where it was still wrapped around his own swollen cock. ‘ _Now.’_

‘Just a little longer,’ Augus soothed, but nothing about his actions were soothing at all. ‘Wait for me, Gwyn. I’m close. Just wait.’

‘ _Can’t,’_ Gwyn managed, and then had to bury his face in the sheets again, muffling all the noises that were being ripped out of him. The skin of his entire body felt stretched too tight. He thought that he’d desensitise to Augus moving inside of him, but he felt more aware instead, found it harder to breathe every time Augus pushed in deep or ground his hips when he was inside. His mind became a cacophony of protest and sensation and _please_ and _can’t._

Augus was moving faster now, his breathing becoming uneven and ragged, just as it had when Gwyn had deep-throated him. Gwyn heard him utter a small, contained sound of pleasure and his pulse picked up in the hopes of soon, soon, _soon._

All at once, Augus dragged his hand away from Gwyn’s cock and sliced a fingernail through the tough waterweed, before reaching back straight away to grip Gwyn’s cock in a hard, fast-paced grip. His movements became shaky, and Gwyn didn’t care, couldn’t pay any attention, because pressure was building inside of him and his vision was greying out and everything was coalescing together into one huge ball of shattering _light_ and-

Gwyn had only the barest sliver of consciousness left to make sure he didn’t burst into rays and hurt Augus, before he came harder than he could remember coming since...the time he’d visited Augus in his own home, centuries ago. And that time he’d blacked out.

So at least the sensation was familiar, when he found himself doing it again.

*

He came to with a start, lying on his side and something cool pressed against his forehead. His whole body felt wrung out and sore. He was exhausted.

‘How long was I out?’ he said thickly, and Augus shifted by his side.

‘Oh, not long. A few minutes.’ Augus continued to move the damp cloth over Gwyn’s face, and Gwyn listed into it, before he remembered that Augus wasn’t a free fae and couldn’t be trusted, he forced himself to move backwards again. The events of the day came tumbling back and he groaned. He had the beginnings of a terrible, menacing headache.

‘I have meetings,’ Gwyn said, but didn’t open his eyes. He realised, belatedly, waterweed was still wrapped around his calf and attached to the bedpost.

‘You have meetings every day. I don’t know what the Seelie fae do with their time, but they seem like a lot of bureaucratic fools, have you ever noticed that?’

‘I can’t _not_ notice,’ Gwyn complained. Augus chuckled and smoothed a damp curl away from Gwyn’s face. Gwyn rolled onto his back and winced as a wave of dizziness rushed over him. He held his breath, and then swallowed. He felt a cool glass pressed into his hand and looked sideways, it was water. He looked up at Augus in confusion.

‘You need it,’ Augus said quietly. ‘Small sips though. Can you sit up?’

‘Of course I can,’ Gwyn spat, pushing himself upright and shuddering out a thick, queasy exhale as the room tilted. He didn’t understand why he should be _so_ tired, and then he remembered how much effort he’d needed to hold back the light, and he realised exactly why he felt so bad. He normally didn’t let himself get pushed that close to his limits. Augus was lucky. They were both lucky.

He sipped at the water until half the glass was gone. He was tempted to drain the rest, but Augus was already taking it away and setting it down on the cabinet next to his bed.

‘You bought new furniture,’ Gwyn said, and Augus shrugged.

‘I bought a lot of things. You’re just not very attentive to detail.’

Gwyn wanted to nod, but feared the motion would make his head feel even worse, so he just focused on breathing instead. He still felt overheated, he could still feel Augus inside of him, felt – vaguely – that Augus was still there, moving relentlessly. He groaned and lowered his head into his hand.

‘We shouldn’t have done this,’ he said. Augus said nothing, did nothing, and when Gwyn looked up at him, Augus was returning his gaze with a measured, serious expression.

‘I disagree,’ Augus said, ‘And you will too. You’ll be back for more of this. And my enjoyment of it aside, you know things are already far out of your control, so why do you keep pretending they are not? You have me up here in your palace, and you _clearly_ don’t want me back in the cell. If you have me here, why not take advantage of what I can offer you? This I am willing to give.’

‘I wonder why,’ Gwyn said flatly, and Augus laughed. Gwyn took a deep breath and another, and then reached past Augus and picked up the glass, drained the rest of the water in one gulp. He felt it move, cold, all the way down to his stomach.

‘You should sleep.’

Gwyn stared at him, lowered the glass. He couldn’t think of anything more stupid, allowing himself to fall asleep next to an Augus that had just taken control of him in a way that still frightened him. He had come terribly close to releasing his light at full strength, he _knew_ he had. The light was always close when he came, but it was never like _that._

‘No, I’m not sleeping.’

‘Gwyn, you’re tired. You’re not thinking straight. This whole debacle, _all_ of it happened because you’re not thinking straight. You push yourself too-’

‘No!’ Gwyn said, reaching down and tearing the waterweed off his calf in a single motion. Augus sat bolt upright at that, shocked. Perhaps, Gwyn thought, he was realising that Gwyn was past ‘token’ resistance. ‘No! I’m not sleeping, and I’m not sleeping here.’

He dissolved into light before Augus could reach for him, and landed in his innermost room. There, he briefly whispered the words that would remove Augus’ permission to enter, and sank to his knees. He saw the liver from earlier in the corner of his eye, sitting wet and glistening on his floor, and he bent over himself, gagging. He felt sick, and the water he’d just drunk was a cold, shifting weight in his stomach.

He _was_ tired, the weight of recent events were crushing him down, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d needed sleep so much. Even managing the Court back before defeating the Nightmare King and bringing Augus down hadn’t been so stressful.

If his family discovered what he’d done. If _anyone_ did...

Gwyn made a sound that he’d heard tortured out of other people and wrapped his head around his ears so he didn’t have to hear it the second or third time he made it.

*

He startled when he heard the doorknob rattle, and then pounding at his door.

‘You will let me in, Gwyn!’ Augus called, a mix of anger and something else lacing together in his voice. ‘You’re a _mess._ You are in no state to provide aftercare for yourself.’

_Fuck aftercare,_ Gwyn thought blackly, dragging one of the many blankets off his bed and throwing it over the liver. He could deal with that later. Burn it or throw it down a well, perhaps. It was a waste of good meat. He couldn’t believe what he’d done.

He stared balefully at the door where Augus had started insistently knocking again.

‘I misjudged. You don’t need to sleep,’ Augus said through the door, and Gwyn closed his eyes, pained.

The problem was that he _did._

But not with Augus anywhere near him.

He pressed his hand against the wall, concentrated, moved the magic that would bar Augus from the second innermost circle of rooms, and the knocking abruptly stopped. Augus would find himself suddenly in another section of the palace; still able to access his own rooms, the lake, whatever he needed. And Gwyn...wouldn’t have to put up with that knocking anymore, those false assurances of aftercare. He didn’t _want_ it.

Gwyn crawled tired, naked, onto his own bed and burrowed into the blankets, away from the pillows. He rested his forehead on his forearm and closed his eyes. He knew he had to sleep, but he hated sleeping. He felt hot and sore, he still felt sick with himself. He’d wanted something from Augus and he thought he’d almost gotten it, but Augus was right, there was no absolution for him; though not for the reasons that Augus thought.

He exhaled a dry, weak sob and reluctantly gave himself over to the blackness of sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, 'Aftercare:'
> 
> ‘If you do not blood-oath to me that you will allow me to administer aftercare, for a length of time that I deem sufficient, then that’s it. We are done. This? It’s done.’


	14. Aftercare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New tags for this chapter: Aftercare, Touch-Starved, Conspiracies
> 
> *
> 
> Thank you all SO much for commenting, kudosing etc. When I first posted this up I thought I'd be lucky if it ever got 20 kudos, or a single regular commenter, and so...I consider myself very very lucky indeed. :)

Gwyn slept for three days. He woke up from a familiar nightmare, bolted upright, clawing at the pain of loss in his chest as though he could remove it. He blinked dazed at his own room, still feeling out of sorts. The sleep helped reinforce his flagging energy levels, but in all other ways he didn’t feel right. He felt colder than normal, and there was a creeping queasiness that remained in his stomach and left him nauseous. It only worsened as he walked past the blanket-covered liver rotting on his floor and dragged on clothing that would help him face the Seelie Court.

He’d missed at least three crucial meetings. One had been designed to prevent a small war over a land dispute. Seelie land fae were getting pushed out of their territories by human habitation and decided to fight each other about it instead.

Guilt that he had could have directly contributed to a new war left him determined to throw himself into his responsibilities as King. Apprehension that Augus might not actually be happy with him for pushing him out of the inner circles of his rooms rose and fell inside of him in waves. Below that, the chaos of everything he had done over the past months clamoured inside his head, dim bells that he tried to ignore.

His time with Augus came back to him in both moments that were blurry and those that stabbed into him with sharp clarity. Every now and then Gwyn also felt the ghost of the physical pleasure Augus had evoked within him. It raced through him, stealing his breath. It was a wrench to his nerves that made his vision blur.

What Augus had done had been very tame, compared to what they both knew Gwyn enjoyed. Gwyn may have protested at the time, but...Augus had delivered. In a way that Gwyn hadn’t expected. He had expected revenge, torture, _pain._ That was what he knew he had earned with his actions. Augus had gone in a different direction to what Gwyn had expected, offering pleasure, and fleeting moments of touch that left Gwyn feeling disturbed and queasy. People were not gentle with him. People had never been gentle with him.

Gwyn was a masochist, naturally submissive, though he hid this from others. Hiding the truth of himself was helped by his habit of turning bloodlust into lust immediately after a battle and simply _taking_ those of his soldiers who wanted to be taken. Augus had been right, however. What had he been looking for when he went down into those cells? Who had he been wanting to break?

In his family it was weakness to wish to be dominated, to enjoy being dragged down a path of pain and pleasure and not be the one doling it out. But he was not unusual in his tastes, most fae had a wide range of creative tastes in their sexual pursuits. They healed quickly, especially those with higher statuses. They lived a long time, they cared not for human taboo. Most fae had time to explore different forms of sensuality and sex, time to explore blood and pain and the outer limits of their endurance.

It was the _words_ Augus said that carried the true damage, he’d flayed him with language. Everything else had been...

Gwyn shivered.

He spent the afternoon reviewing the enchantments of his palatial rooms, the ones that kept some in, others out. He was the King, and his permissions were sacrosanct, whatever he decided was Law. In the end, he decided to re-work them so that even more of the palatial rooms were restricted from the rest of the Seelie fae. Very few people found their way into his palace in the first place, but it disturbed him that Efnisien had found Augus. Had he seen Augus, looking healthier than he should have at this stage of his captivity, and _suspected?_

Efnisien was crass, but no idiot.

Gwyn looked down at his hands as he stood, later, in the Seelie dungeon. They were shaking. Fungi winked blue-green light at him, he was surrounded by shadows. He’d changed the permissions a little while ago, so that only he might enter the entire dungeons – he was the only one who used them anyway, and he hadn’t wanted anyone else visiting Augus. But now he double-checked to make sure the permissions were still in place. He couldn’t afford someone like Albion coming down and noticing Augus was absent. He placed his hands against the dirt walls and felt for it – only his energy signature present, thrumming in response to him. Everyone else would be as unable to enter the dungeons at all, just as Augus had been unable to leave the invisible barrier of his own cell. Just as Augus now couldn’t leave the palace beyond the bounds of Gwyn’s will.

He needed to make sure his bases were covered. Realistically, the only way to ensure his bases were truly covered would be to demote Augus once more and shove him back in his cell and simply _not_ visit him.

The thought of that turned Gwyn’s stomach. He wished, for once, that there was someone he could talk to about these things. He wanted to visit Pitch, perhaps. Except that Pitch was understandably unreasonable over the subject of Augus, and he was certain of what advice he would receive. _Have you considered killing him?_ Outside of Pitch, he couldn’t think of anyone else to confide in.

He rescheduled a second emergency meeting with the factions of fae who were prepared to go to battle over the land dispute for the late evening.

Then, Efnisien’s threats. He had to know if they were only empty words, or if there was a kernel of truth to them.

And when he learned that, in fact, there _was_ a plot against Augus’ brother, Gwyn set about doing the things that he knew how to do. The entire day was spent teleporting, gathering information, keeping Gulvi apprised of the situation. It was – at first glance – a flimsy plot, it seemed based on the premise that a co-King and Queen had less power overall and were easier to defeat. It was a lie. Gulvi and Ash were equally powerful, and bestowed with just as much raw magic as Gwyn was.

Gwyn could think of several reasons why Efnisien would be involved in such a plot – _Crielle_ immediately came to mind. But to tell Augus of it? He became certain that aside from the thrill of threatening an ex-King, Efnisien would have used any and all information gathered as leverage against Gwyn. He and Efnisien had never seen anything eye to eye as children, and that had turned to flat, mutual hatred in Gwyn’s early twenties. At that time, Efnisien stopped seeing Gwyn as a victim, and started seeing him as an amusing threat.

_What were you planning, cousin?_

And of course, behind Efnisien, always his mother. They had been spending more time together, and she...

Gwyn’s teeth ground together.

He laid out his armour on his bed, teleported out of his room to look for something to clean his floor. He had trows who would gladly help him, but he had carved something of a quiet space for himself when he’d stopped relying on his servants so much back at his family’s estate, and started learning how to do these things for himself. The habits continued, and while the trows helped sometimes, he serviced his own core room. He preferred it that way.

He realised he might never know exactly what Efnisien was planning. Efnisien was secretive. His only confidante was Crielle, but otherwise, like Gwyn, he kept all of his games to himself until it came time to reveal his hand. Likely Crielle realised the full extent of his machinations, likely _she_ had directed him towards them.

There was something eluding him about the plot. Why would a group of mid-level fae plot to take over Ash, who was so beloved? They weren’t waterfae, so it wasn’t a matter of vicarious revenge against Augus. They could not ever hope to have enough power to do anything meaningful other than make a show of attempting to demote him, so it wasn’t grounded in a serious bid for power.

If it wasn’t a true bid for power, and it wasn’t revenge related, it was a step in a larger plan. Gwyn considered that perhaps even Gulvi – as chaotic as she was – may have orchestrated an attempt against Ash to prove her own power as Queen when it came to defending her Court, saving Ash from peril. She would gain followers, loyalty. She was capable of that, even though she’d never truly harm Ash. But that was the rub, he didn’t think Gulvi would actually orchestrate anything that had the potential to harm Ash, even if it benefitted her in the long-term.

He frowned as he tossed away the liver, the blanket he’d used to cover it, and then went to work cleaning his own floorboards. Why would there be a plot against Ash at all? What would the endgame be? And did Efnisien and Crielle discover it and piggyback onto it, or had this been set in motion by them some time ago? Likely the latter.

Was it a convoluted play for the Seelie throne? Efnisien had boasted about doing just that when they were younger, and he’d always considered Gwyn the weakest out of the two of them. And Crielle didn’t want Gwyn on the throne and now that Augus and the Nightmare King were defeated, no one _needed_ him on the throne.

He had to know her involvement, but of course she would not have shared what she had planned with anyone barring Efnisien. He was under _no_ illusions that she was the puppet-master, Efnisien a willing puppet. But Efnisien had only talked to one person about the details – Augus had said there were details – and...

Gwyn realised, with a groan, that he’d have to talk to Augus about exactly what Efnisien had said. This was only one move on the chess-board, and he could feel himself, suddenly, a piece trapped and unable to recognise the other pieces that were hemming him in. He tried to put it out of his mind, but it stayed, cloying, while he put cleaning equipment away and then wiped his hands, ready – finally – for the rescheduled meeting.

He rubbed at his forehead and then strapped on his armour carefully, focusing on the ritual of the act.

He had to focus, there was a meeting to mediate. He wasn’t in the mood. His body felt like a betrayal. He had come so close to letting go of his light. He heard his father’s voice; _Do you need to visit the old family estate again? Do you need to remember what kind of monster you are?_ Did he? He wanted to hide ensconced in his bed and stare up at the ceiling, as he always did when he needed to disappear.

He needed to disappear.

He didn’t have the time. There were things to do. 

*

Mediating amongst the two factions of Seelie fae was long and laborious. Hours passed, and everyone expected him to come up with a solution that would make everyone happy. But the only solution that would make everyone happy would be to stop humans from encroaching on their land, which wasn’t possible. Sacrifices had to be made, compromises were necessary. In the end, he managed to prevent a war that would have ended in lives lost, but he knew it wouldn’t be the end.

Instead of outright war, there would be plots and intrigues. The manipulations and blackmail would come. It took the fae centuries to adjust to restricted home sizes. And until they adjusted, they would ease their own process with sniping at one another, sometimes fatally, to resist looking at what they had truly lost.

He was melancholy when he made his way back to his room. He had spent his entire life attempting to avoid the notice of the Court, even though he was Court. He’d spent centuries avoiding even being _present_ at the Seelie Court; electing to live out in forests wherever possible. He had thought he’d escaped everyone’s notice. He had assumed that everyone thought of him as a soldier; competent on the battlefield, and that was it.

His father had spent so long making him memorise historical strategies, the tactics and methods employed by different human cultures, different species of fae, that he’d unknowingly moved Gwyn into a position where he’d become more than a soldier. What had been a way to make Gwyn stay out of sight and therefore out of mind when growing up, turned into something that had – unbeknownst to him – brought him to the attention of the Inner Court fae who held the most power.

He’d gone from eking out – if not a satisfactory existence – then something less stressful than life could have been in the Courts, to feeling an unexpected, unwanted rush of profound power. His Kingship had invaded him on a sunny, warm afternoon, and forced him away from his forest cabin that very day. Even recreating his forest home as a palace in the Seelie Court hadn’t helped. He’d left the hide of a healthy stag halfway-tanned, arrow shafts that still needed fletching, a recurve bow that wasn’t fit for a King and was likely now in the possession of some other woodland sprite.

It had been such a shock to him, it had destabilised his centre of wildness, the only one he’d ever felt truly comfortable with. It never returned to him.

He removed his armour quickly, resigned to searching out Augus and asking him about Efnisien. That would not be a fun conversation, by any stretch of the imagination. He knew Augus would have something to say about being locked out of the innermost rooms, and no conversation ever went easily with Augus anyway. They never had. Even during their more light-hearted moments during the Wild Hunts, Augus was rarely genuinely laidback. Or, perhaps – Gwyn realised – it was more that he was only laidback when he was making everyone else around him uncomfortable.

Not that Gwyn ever found conversations especially easy with anyone. He seemed to be missing some basic skill-set. He laid the dra’ocht thick during diplomatic events and significant encounters with others, but he appreciated the short, abrupt way soldiers often spoke to each other, and every now and then, at the Wild Hunt, he was given glimpses of how things could be if he found conversation _easier._

But it was never easy.

He put away his armour, shrugged on a new shirt, and stared around his room for several minutes. He sorted his thoughts out as best as he could and left his room, determined to get the confrontation with Augus over and done with.

He took no more than two steps out of the innermost circle of rooms when long, thick ropes of waterweed shot out and wrapped around his ankles and calves. He tripped and fell heavily, landing badly on his wrist. He turned to see Augus stepping out from behind a tree trunk, coils of waterweed lying heavy in his hand. Gwyn winced when a coarse, wet length of waterweed wrapped around his sore wrist and squeezed hard.

This was...perhaps what he should have expected.

He tried to push himself upright, but it was Augus who pulled him up with the help of his waterweed and shoved him back against a wooden log bench against the wall. More lengths of waterweed curled over Gwyn until he was secured in a sitting position by his wrists, his neck, his legs. Augus was standing over him, very close now, a calculating expression on his face.

When Gwyn opened his mouth to draw Augus’ attention back to the plot against his brother, Augus pushed two fingers into his mouth and pressed down on his tongue. His fingers felt lukewarm, which meant that Gwyn’s temperature was at least back to normal. Gwyn blinked up at Augus, not nearly as outraged as he should have been. Though he worried about being distracted, he really _did_ have to ask about Efnisien. He resisted the urge to suck on Augus’ fingers, and kept his mouth carefully still.

‘No talking,’ Augus said. ‘Miss me?’

Gwyn’s eyes darted around the room and Augus smiled.

‘Worried someone else will see you like this? You should be. This is a very compromising position you’re in. I could, of course, make it _more_ compromising, but then I doubt you’d be capable of listening to me.’

Augus’ fingers shifted, rubbed gently. Gwyn inhaled slowly through his nose, and Augus gave him a smile that was predatory.

‘It’s hard for you, isn’t it? I can tell you’re restraining yourself. I see it so _rarely.’_

Gwyn swallowed, and Augus nodded as though that had been the answer he was looking for.

‘We have to have a little chat,’ Augus said, turning his fingers sideways and then up and curling them down the roof of Gwyn’s mouth, as though he wanted him to come closer. Gwyn pressed himself back into the mossy wall behind him. He was _King,_ this shouldn’t be happening, this arrangement was supposed to happen on _his_ terms _._

‘Although I have to say,’ Augus continued, ‘this is rather distracting. All I can wonder is how long I could keep my cock in your mouth, before you lost interest. And of course the answer to that is _never.’_

Augus turned his fingers again and gave Gwyn a lazy, confident look as he started mapping out the inside of his mouth. It was invasive, it felt...like the scene from three days ago hadn’t ended, was still going. It was a firm, knowing pressure, and Gwyn liked it. Unfortunately, the knowledge that Augus found this so easy to do, had immobilised Gwyn so quickly, turned that appreciation into something else entirely. Augus had said that Gwyn was vulnerable to losing his kingdom because he was so easy to take advantage of in this manner. What Augus hadn’t said was that _he_ was the one planning on exploiting it.

Though Gwyn should have known, really.

‘You still don’t look your best and brightest, Gwyn,’ Augus said. ‘Still shaking off nearly killing me?’

Gwyn scowled. Augus’ expression was unfathomable, and then seconds later it hardened.

‘Well? Are you?’ he said, cold.

Augus withdrew his fingers, but left his thumb on Gwyn’s chin and kept the rest of his hand hovering nearby. Gwyn swallowed, located his sprawling thoughts and corralled them together. He tugged at the waterweeds binding him experimentally. There was no getting out of this mess without a serious show of power, using his light, or making a fool of himself.

‘I have news about the plot against Ash,’ Gwyn said. Augus frowned. The hand hovering over his face shifted and grabbed the side of Gwyn’s head, knotting in his hair.

‘You could have told me this sooner.’

‘You didn’t give me much of a chance,’ Gwyn said.

‘Then go on, do tell,’ Augus said. Gwyn laughed and raised his eyebrows.

‘I’m not talking about this with you until you’ve removed me from these restraints,’ he said. Augus waved his hand in a short, sharp motion and the waterweed withdrew immediately, then disappeared. Gwyn stood up and looked around the room. It was not safe.

‘We could go to your room, except, oh, I’m not permitted,’ Augus said.

Gwyn stood and paused, before placing a hesitant hand on Augus’ arm.

‘Your room will be fine,’ Gwyn said, and then teleported them both.

He was momentarily distracted when they arrived. He had sense-memories already associated with this room. He found himself looking around for a sign that he had been there, that Augus had fucked him here, but there was nothing. The bed was made, the room was spotless. Gwyn walked over to the closed door and leaned against it. Augus’ arms were folded, his expression intent.

‘What did Efnisien say to you?’ Gwyn said, and Augus laughed.

‘Oh no, _what_ did you find out about my brother?’

‘It doesn’t work that way. I need to know what Efnisien said, in order to know exactly what’s happening.’

‘Gwyn...’ Augus said, threateningly, and Gwyn stepped away from the door, glared at Augus.

‘No. I don’t have patience for this. You will _tell_ me. Your strength isn’t deciphering political intrigue. And don’t tell me about how you assisted the Raven Prince. After all of your _help,_ he still didn’t see you coming, so he didn’t learn all that much from you, did he?’

Augus looked like he was seriously considering putting up a fight, and then he pulled out the chair at his desk and sat down, crossing one leg over the other. There was nothing casual about his expression though. For the briefest of moments, Gwyn wondered what it must be like, to have someone care so much in the way Ash and Augus cared about each other. His mind replied that it could only be dangerous, that it was no good thing. After all, Augus had almost been in full control of Gwyn, and now with only a few words, he was being made to tag along in a conversation he had no hope of controlling. All because of his brother.

‘Efnisien’s a talker. I’m not sure what you want to know,’ Augus said.

‘What did he say about the plot? You said he had details. And what did he say upon noticing you in these rooms, instead of down in the cell?’

‘You mean aside from promising that the only reason I’d been moved to nicer accommodations was so that it would be easier on the both of you when you fucked me?’ Augus drawled.

‘Yes, aside from that,’ Gwyn said, not falling for it.

‘When he saw me here, he was surprised,’ Augus said. ‘And then he seemed positively _delighted_. As to the plot itself. Let me see. He mentioned a mid-level fae faction who were going to exploit the fact that Ash is a weaker King, precisely because he’s co-King, and-’

‘That is not a fact,’ Gwyn said. ‘That is a myth.’

‘No, it isn’t,’ Augus said, eyes narrowing. ‘Everyone knows that when-’

‘Everyone is wrong. It is a _myth._ Ash and Gulvi have exactly as much power and status as I do. It is not halved because there is two of them.’

Augus pursed his lips.

‘Then why not just declare _everyone_ King and Queen, and give as many fae as we want this super-charged status?’

‘The limit is two per Court,’ Gwyn said.

‘I suppose your Court education is how you know all of this,’ Augus said, and Gwyn shook his head.

‘Not quite. Efnisien bought into the myth as well, and he is also Court. I had to read a lot when I was younger.’

‘If this is the result of all of that reading, I would hate to see how dumb you were without all of those books.’

Gwyn held back laughter. Augus was uncomfortable. He was getting better at reading the spectrum of Augus’ discomfort and as a result, it was easier not to take his pettier insults so personally. Augus referring to Gwyn as stupid was something of a staple. He moved his hand briefly, to indicate that Augus should keep talking about what Efnisien had said.

Augus’ eyes flickered down, before moving back up and holding Gwyn’s gaze with his steady green one.

‘On the night of the Winter Solstice, the longest night, Efnisien said that you were going to draw me out of the cells and into the Wild Hunt – that sounds familiar, doesn’t it? He said it would be a publicised event, limited audience, but Seelie and Unseelie would be invited. As Gulvi is and has always been a member of the Hunts wherever possible, Efnisien was sure that Ash would find out. That, knowing I was in such danger, Ash would be drawn out, and make himself vulnerable in the process.’

_Not such a bad plan after all,_ Gwyn thought, taking a breath. Efnisien was lying through his teeth that Gwyn was involved, and Ash was at full King status, replete with power. On the surface, it sounded false, but beneath that Gwyn could see the workings of his mother’s mind, and it sent a chill down the back of his spine.  

Likely, Efnisien or Crielle were planning on suggesting a Wild Hunt with Augus as the sport to the entire Court. The Seelie Court for the most part loathed Augus, and Gwyn could not have said no to such a suggestion without coming across as a weak King. The Wild Hunt was considered fair and neutral ground. If Augus had been put up as the quarry, both sides would have claimed it to be an example of fair justice, even though it would have been nothing but. And if Crielle became the mascot for the idea, Gwyn would risk turning the cliques with the most influence against him.

‘Did Efnisien say that I knew of this already?’ Gwyn said, and Augus took a breath. He blinked out of the calculating expression he’d been directing at Gwyn.

‘Yes. It wasn’t so much of a leap for me to imagine that this would be something you’d plan, and I’m sure you know why.’

The memory of that night lay between them, and Gwyn took a second, shakier breath.

If Gwyn agreed to put Augus up as the quarry in the Wild Hunt, Efnisien would have a clear opportunity to make an aggressive move against Ash, who would have been lured out and vulnerable. Ash would survive it, but Augus likely wouldn’t, and the Unseelie Court would be dealt a damaging blow; Ash wouldn’t be stable after Augus’ death, he wasn’t stable _now_. Gulvi would expect Gwyn’s support, but he wasn’t able to publically show such support of the Unseelie King and Queen, which Crielle would _know,_ and Efnisien had enough nous to figure that out as well.

Gwyn’s teeth ground together. He felt ill and absurdly grateful Efnisien was dead.

For, of course, if Gwyn refused to put Augus up for sport – which Crielle would have known was more likely – it wouldn’t have mattered how pretty or fair his speech was, it wouldn’t even have mattered if his Court accepted the words as a true transmission from his centre of justice. Crielle and Efnisien would have their proof that Gwyn was showing a display of unseemly weakness. It could be a potentially decisive blow against his Kingship. Gwyn still had a lot of social currency simply based on the fact that the Nightmare King had been defeated during his reign, but it would have been possible. The reign of the Nightmare King was already not so fresh, and Augus was still alive...the fae might begin to be swayed towards a more ruthless King.

And Efnisien had been demonstrating less public cruelty lately. Was he slowly trying to alter his reputation to make himself more suitable for potential Kingship in the future? Was he hoping to make everyone forget centuries of measured, evil monstrosities? The worst part, it could have worked. Centres changed, the fae could have believed in him given enough time. Crielle had him well-groomed to behave within the Court, and even in a short period of time, he was well-favoured.

‘Did Efnisien say anything in relation to me and the Unseelie Court?’ Gwyn said, and Augus’ brows drew together, as though he didn’t expect the question.

‘Actually he did,’ Augus said slowly. ‘He said that even Gulvi was a part of the plan, that she had been a member of the Wild Hunt for a long time, and always wanted to reign solo as Queen. I found that harder to believe. You have seen her around Ash. The likelihood that she would do anything to harm him is exceedingly slim. But alongside this, Efnisien said that you could talk Gulvi into the plan, because you had that kind of power over the Unseelie Court, given that you demoted me and installed them into their current positions, and that they owe you an unusual amount of debt.’

_I am glad that he’s dead_.

‘He acted like he was part of your inner circle, and it was easy to believe,’ Augus said, shaking his head. ‘I didn’t think it was common knowledge that you’d begun manipulating the Unseelie Court into supporting Gulvi as Queen, well before I was even demoted.’

‘It’s not,’ Gwyn said, ‘Efnisien was confirming a suspicion. He floated the idea and you reacted in a way that confirmed what he suspected. If my Court knew how often I’d met with the Inner and Outer Court of the Unseelie, they would have had something to say about it. And none of it good. For all that they talk of Seelie and Unseelie cooperation, they do not truly want it.’

‘Will you tell me about this plan against Ash? Is it halted? Surely the death of Efnisien is not enough to stop it from going ahead.’

‘Did Efnisien say anything about _me?’_

‘Concentrate for at least five minutes, Gwyn, this isn’t about y-’

Augus stood up in a single, fluid movement and stared at Gwyn.

‘Are you saying he wasn’t planning on attacking Ash?’

‘No,’ Gwyn said grimly. ‘Now will you answer my question, please.’

Augus’ face darkened as he tried to make the connections that Gwyn had made. He then looked at Gwyn with an expression that Gwyn couldn’t read.

‘He said that I looked surprisingly well, given that I was your prisoner and that I should have been drying out. He made some joke that you were giving me water to keep me well-fuelled for fucking, but he seemed honestly surprised that I was not manacled, and that I was free to walk around. There were a few minutes, before he mentioned any plan at all, where I thought that _I_ was not the one who should be watching my back around him. This was a plot against you, wasn’t it?’

‘And your brother,’ Gwyn said. ‘And likely you as well. Efnisien doesn’t come up with plans that have only one favourable outcome. He sets himself up so that every possible result is favourable.’

Gwyn left out the part where he was certain that this was his mother, because Augus didn’t need to know that.

‘Except for the part where I destroyed him,’ Augus said darkly, and Gwyn’s smile echoed his.

‘Except for that part. Likely he _never_ expected that an underfae could triumph over a Court fae.’

‘Is the plan still...in effect?’ Augus said and Gwyn nodded.

‘I’m not sure how successful they’ll be. Medium-level fae against a King? Please. Ash was a brawler, was he not? And Gulvi is aware of what’s happening, and has stepped up security in her Court. Efnisien was – from what I can tell – manipulating mid-level Unseelie fae into a vicarious revenge plot, it won’t work now that he’s dead.’

_The other plots however...Crielle could be suggesting a Wild Hunt to the Court at this very moment, suggesting more exciting prey, a certain waterhorse perhaps. She knows I would refuse. She has always known how much I hate killing fae outside of battle._

‘What aren’t you telling me? How is this about you?’ Augus said, and Gwyn didn’t feel like going into it, because taking a walk through his family’s minds to try and figure out _exactly_ what was going on, reminded him too much of growing up around them. Crielle had loathed him from birth, and was cruel and vindictive, not opposed to harming him physically or mentally. Efnisien liked immediate _and_ long-term gratification. Even as a teenager, he would take advantage of an impromptu spot of cruelty, even while working on some other plot that would take two or three months to execute.

Perhaps Gwyn should have informed his father that Efnisien was surprisingly helpful at inadvertently teaching him battle strategies and tactics.

‘You can rest assured that Ash will not befall any danger,’ Gwyn said, slipping into the formality easily. He’d found out what he needed to find out. He would scour his own Court for the worst of Crielle and Efnisien’s sympathisers and find a way to eject them if he could. If someone came forth and asked about submitting Augus to the Wild Hunt as quarry...he’d still be obligated to say yes.

Gwyn would have to pay the King of the Forest a visit. If he could get the support of the white stag, then Gwyn’s refusal to allow Augus to be a part of the Wild Hunt, no matter who suggested it, would be cause enough for everyone to dismiss the idea once they knew he had the King of the Forest’s support. That was if he could get it.

‘Look at you, still thinking,’ Augus said, walking over. Gwyn opened the door quickly, recognising that it was time to leave, and Augus raised his eyebrows. ‘And now the hasty retreat? Like last time? I don’t think so. Didn’t I say that we had to have a little chat?’

Augus reached out and removed Gwyn’s hand from the doorknob, closed the door again. Gwyn wasn’t sure exactly how Augus was doing it, but he felt crowded. Augus leaned in and pressed his lips against Gwyn’s ear.

‘If you teleport out of here, I will find you, and I will _rip you apart.’_

Gwyn’s eyes widened.

‘I’m not going to-’

‘Sit down on the bed, I have some things to discuss with you about this arrangement.’

‘We don’t have an arrangement,’ Gwyn said, and Augus laughed.

_‘Sit.’_

Gwyn rubbed a hand over his head.

‘I think we should re-establish the fact that I am King of this Court, and that you are-’

The fist that Augus clenched in Gwyn’s hair lashed out quickly, Gwyn was dragged down forcibly to his knees. The hand in his hair gave a shake and Gwyn’s breath escaped him on a pained hiss. There was nothing relenting about that grip.

‘I’m _sick_ of this. You revoke my status right now, and put me back in that cell, or sit down on the bed.’

Gwyn swallowed. He should. He should do it now that he had the opening. He _should._

‘Well?’ Augus said, something dangerous in his voice. ‘Are we going to keep playing _this_ game? Because I’ll play it, if you like. But you won’t like the outcome. Remind me that you are King of this Court, that I am your prisoner. _Please.’_

Gwyn reached up and grasped Augus’ wrist, when Augus’ hand tightened so hard he felt hair pulling out of his scalp. Augus dug the fingernails of his free hand into pressure points that made Gwyn’s whole arm feel like it was burning, and he yanked it back. It was the first time Augus had used pressure points against him, and it felt _awful._ He knew Augus had been trained in the art, but he had almost forgotten he could do it. His arm still ached.

‘Efnisien knew I was your prisoner. The whole fae world knows that I’m your prisoner. Even _I_ know it, because I’m _stuck_ here. If you think that reminding me that you put me here, that you put my brother in a position where he is about to be _attacked,_ is going to help you... oh, I despair of you, Gwyn. You’re just going to get _hurt.’_

_Let me go._ Gwyn didn’t dare utter the words because they would damn him. He could, after all, still teleport. Even if Augus came with him because his grip was so tight, the teleportation would be enough that Gwyn could still shake him off. He could even use the light. Though no, he couldn’t, he couldn’t use it, not after last time. It was too close to the surface.

‘I’m going to take your silence as agreement that when I let go of your hair, you are going to sit down on that bed and _listen_ to me. If you don’t, this will go very differently. I may actually push you to the point where you have no choice but to revoke my status. Do you understand?’

Gwyn nodded, winced at the pain in his head.

Augus let go and Gwyn stood, walked over to the bed and sat down on it, rubbing at the back of his scalp. Any more force, and he was certain he would have been bleeding.

Gwyn watched as Augus drew the pocket knife out of his desk drawer again. He tossed it over to Gwyn, who caught it, bemused.

‘You’re going to make a blood-oath of your own, today,’ Augus said, quietly, turning his desk chair around and sitting so he could face Gwyn. His face was free of any smirks, surprisingly serious.

‘Excuse me?’ Gwyn said, looking at the pocket knife and then back at Augus.

‘You _ran._ And then you locked me out. Do you know, I have had clients and colleagues refuse aftercare before, at least at first, but there’s always a point where they succumb because they understand its necessity. And I thought, at first, that this was your play. You would run, and I would – _exhausted,_ I might add – follow you. But you were making no false play, were you? I don’t trust you to allow me to administer aftercare.’

‘I don’t need aftercare,’ Gwyn said, furrowing his brow. Was _this_ what this was about?

‘No?’ Augus said, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward. ‘Gwyn, might I remind you that you almost couldn’t keep down _water?’_

Gwyn hid the pocket knife in his fist and maintained a confident eye contact he did not feel.

‘I slept, as you suggested. But on my own, which makes a great deal of sense, given that you yourself said I shouldn’t _trust_ you. I fail to see how-’

‘Why did you allow me to administer aftercare the first time you visited me? Back then?’ Augus said, tilting his head, as though Gwyn was a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out.

‘I didn’t ‘allow’ it,’ Gwyn said, laughing cheerlessly at the memory, ‘I don’t recall that I had a great command of language after you were through with me, that first time.’

‘So you wouldn’t have allowed it?’ Augus said, confused. ‘Gwyn, I don’t do one and not the other. They’re part of the same offering. Two sides of the same coin. I...’

Gwyn swallowed when he realised that Augus was actually speechless. He opened his hand and looked at the pocket knife, frowning. He didn’t need to be _fussed_ over. That wasn’t what this was about. He’d done the wrong thing, he deserved-

‘You say your mother has been working against you. Efnisien might be plotting against you. Your family aren’t the supportive bastions they appear to be, are they? Is this madness your family’s doing?’ Augus said, and though the words were directed at Gwyn, they were quiet enough that he might as well have been talking to himself. ‘What a convoluted maze it is, inside that head of yours.’

‘Augus-’

‘If you do not blood-oath to me that you will allow me to administer aftercare, for a length of time that I deem sufficient, then that’s it. We are done. This? It’s done.’

Gwyn was shocked when he realised that Augus was serious. He could never imagine a circumstance where Augus would pass up dominating someone, especially his _captor,_ in a situation like _this._

‘Don’t be ridi-’

‘ _No,’_ Augus stood and glared. ‘This isn’t negotiable, Gwyn. It’s a blood-oath, or nothing.’

Gwyn moved the pocket knife between his hands. He didn’t like blood-oaths at the best of times. He’d do it, if he had to, but he felt them heavy in his cells. Why blood-oath for this, of all things? It was just trivial.

‘Look at you,’ Augus laughed, though there was a breathless quality to it. He stepped up to Gwyn and looked down at him, and Gwyn stared up, belligerent. ‘Perhaps I should have expected this, from the one who only made me blood-oath not to murder or permanently injure him, but left everything else wide open.’

‘You didn’t give me enough time,’ Gwyn said, clenching his teeth together.

‘Pick up the pocket knife, and blood-oath that you’ll let me give you _aftercare.’_

A strange, horrified pounding stuttered in Gwyn’s heart.

‘Why? What do you want to do?’

Augus stared at him, the corners of his lips turned down.

‘What do you think aftercare is, Gwyn?’ Augus said. ‘It’s clear that whatever is going on in that blockhead of yours, you think it’s worse than what has actually been done to you. Yet here you are, still requiring it because you wouldn’t let it happen three days ago.’

‘Did you sleep?’ Gwyn asked, and Augus narrowed his eyes.

‘Yes, I slept. A day and then some. Focus, please.’

‘I don’t still require it from the other day, this is the most _absurd_ conversation I’ve had with you since-’

‘First,’ Augus said, holding up a finger. ‘I pushed you too hard. More than once. Second, you were not in any state to run your kingdom _before_ you force-fed me liver and you definitely weren’t afterwards; I would like you to keep in mind that when you put your own position as King in jeopardy, I become unfortunately and rather acutely aware of the position _I’m_ in. Third-

‘Augus, I-’

‘I apologise, it must have sounded like I was asking for your opinion, when in actual point of fact I was _not._ You will listen to me. I pushed you too hard. And you would have required extensive aftercare even if I _hadn’t,_ because that’s the direction you slide, Gwyn.’

_It is not,_ Gwyn thought, but he didn’t dare say it, because Augus looked like he was losing whatever patience he had left.

He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to blood-oath that he would stay for aftercare, he didn’t want that. But he didn’t want this new dynamic to be over, either. He worried he would be taken advantage of, hurt, manipulated, but Augus had been right. A part of him needed what Augus had to offer. A part of him had maybe always needed that. And he didn’t know if he could be the one to walk away from their exchange.

His mind wasn’t helping. The memory of the thoughts in his mind draining away under the care of someone else, Augus’ cock in his mouth, of the way Augus’ breathing had changed and turned ragged, knowing now that that was how he sounded when he was _close..._ he didn’t want to give that up.

‘This must be hard for you,’ Augus said quietly, taking the pocket knife and flipping up the blade, before placing it, just so, back in Gwyn’s hand.

‘I don’t want you to ask me to sleep again,’ Gwyn said.

‘If you remember, I had retracted the request that you sleep.’

Gwyn turned the pocket knife in his hands again, keeping his fingers free of the sharp blade. Augus’ palm settled on the top of his head and he told himself that he didn’t flinch.

‘You want what I can give to you,’ Augus said. ‘Let’s not prevaricate and pretend you don’t. I do know I was right when I pointed out that you weren’t just trying to break _me_ in that cell. I can tell you think this is extreme, me asking this of you. I do see that, Gwyn. I’m taking that into account.’

‘Why are you being like this?’ Gwyn said, and Augus shifted his hand on Gwyn’s hair, sighed.

‘Are you going to make the blood-oath or not?’

‘You’ll use it against me,’ Gwyn said, surprised at how strained he sounded. He winced when he realised his voice was shaking. Augus’ hand in his hair paused and then he feathered fingers through several strands of hair. ‘You told me not to trust you,’ Gwyn added.

‘It is a yes or no question,’ Augus said crisply. ‘Are you going to blood-oath or not? Make a decision, Gwyn. I can’t force you to blood-oath. And you don’t like that, do you? This would be easier if I could just make you do it. You do understand why I can’t, don’t you?’

_Not particularly,_ Gwyn frowned.

‘When will this be starting?’ he asked.

‘If you blood-oath now, then _now,’_ Augus said. ‘I seem to recall a time when you asked me to choose between comfort and a gag, do you remember that? You _should._ Did you know that you had a problem with comfort also?’

That was it, Gwyn realised, he couldn’t do this. Augus didn’t offer promises of aftercare laced with cruelty, he offered the real thing. For all that Gwyn worried that Augus would somehow use it against him, manipulate him into giving Augus more power, he was acutely aware that between the two of them, Gwyn had attempted to do more damage. There had been nothing merciful in him when he’d given Augus that choice. That Augus could then turn around and offer something without – it seemed – actually wanting to hurt him, it wasn’t right.

He was halfway through getting up when Augus placed a hand on his shoulder and applied light pressure.

‘Some warrior you are,’ Augus said. ‘Coward. What must it have been like, I wonder? Lludd as your father, Efnisien as your first cousin and you two of an age. Your mother, her centre was appearance, was it not?’

‘It still is,’ Gwyn said.

‘Don’t they just represent everything that is best and brightest about the Seelie Court? You say your mother did not support you being King, but did your father? Did he help manoeuvre you into that position? Was it your birthright?’

Gwyn closed his eyes, he very carefully said nothing.

‘Was it seasoning first on the battlefield? Nights spent studying and learning what it might mean to be Seelie King?’

‘Augus-’

‘We lived close by, do you know? When I learned of you – this young, aristocratic creature born with a silver spoon in his mouth... You were lucky our paths didn’t cross.’

Gwyn looked up at Augus, and was surprised to see no smirk, no hint of the condescension he expected.

‘What you must have thought of me then, when I turned up at your home, half-mad,’ Gwyn said, laughing in spite of himself.

‘ _Half?’_ Then Augus did laugh, he moved until he could sit down on the bed next to Gwyn, still laughing. ‘If that was you half-mad, I’m not sure I want to know what the entirety of your madness looks like. Do you force _ten_ sons to eat their father’s dead hearts, instead of just the one? Do you...’

Gwyn looked fixedly at the door when he saw the way Augus was looking at him.

‘I’d like you to make the blood-oath now,’ Augus said, all traces of mirth gone from his voice. ‘Ah, it confuses me. You’re not doing so well, are you?’

Gwyn blinked at the gentleness that smoothed and lightened Augus’ voice. He looked down at the blade of the pocket knife, a bland silver, and then startled when Augus placed a hand flat on his back.

‘All you need to do is oath that you will allow me to administer aftercare, for a length of time that I deem sufficient. That’s all.’

Gwyn took a deep breath and placed the edge of the blade at his little finger. Augus’ hand was warming against his back, the touch oddly neutral. Augus said nothing as Gwyn made the nick in his finger, closing the pocket knife. Augus reached forwards and took it away with his other hand, placing it down on the bed.

Gwyn watched the blood well, closed his eyes.

‘I, Gwyn ap Nudd, blood-oath to allow Augus Each Uisge to administer aftercare, for...a length of time that he deems sufficient.’

He brought his little finger up to his lips, to remove the blood, but Augus caught his wrist with his hand.

‘Thank you,’ Augus said, drawing Gwyn’s wrist to his own mouth and licking off the small droplet of blood with a warm flick of his tongue. The blood-oath activated. It was an almost-bruise under his skin. The hand on his back dropped, and Gwyn felt the cool air that rushed to replace it as an acute, uncomfortable flash of sensation.

‘Crudely worded,’ Augus added, using the hand around Gwyn’s wrist to encourage him further onto the bed. ‘No definition of aftercare, no stipulations, nothing. anyone would think the subject made you deeply uncomfortable.’

‘Can we just get this over and done with?’ Gwyn said, lying down reluctantly when Augus pushed him down onto his back. Gwyn brought both of his knees up, and then folded his arms across his chest.

Augus took one of his wrists within his fingers and then tugged, repeatedly, while leaning over him.

‘Here,’ Augus said, moving Gwyn’s wrist until his hand was braced on Augus’ arm. ‘Like this.’

‘I don’t understand-’

Breath escaped him when Augus lowered himself down until he could press his lips against Gwyn’s. He kissed with a closed mouth, and then opened his lips only slightly so he could drag them across Gwyn’s, damp hair tracing wet patterns in Gwyn’s shirt, across his neck. Gwyn’s hand tightened on Augus’ arm reflexively, and Augus smiled against his lips.

‘This isn’t aftercare,’ Gwyn said, stupidly.

‘You don’t even know what aftercare is,’ Augus said against his mouth. ‘You don’t know that it has to change, depending on the circumstances. You don’t know that it’s different per person. It changes depending on the hour, the day, the need.’

Augus had modulated his voice. Even without compulsion, it was hypnotic, and the last thing Gwyn saw as he let his eyes close, were the calculating green of Augus’.

‘Tell me about Efnisien,’ Augus said, kissing the corner of his mouth. ‘Tell me what it meant to have him as your cousin, when his centre was cruelty.’

Gwyn sighed. His other hand came up and he pressed fingers into his eyes. The headache he hadn’t been able to shake entirely was returning in force.

‘I fail to see how _this_ is aftercare.’

‘Indulge me,’ Augus said. ‘I’m curious. Truly. What was it like, growing up with him? You weren’t friends, were you?’

‘ _No,’_ Gwyn said, and Augus kissed him chastely with a closed mouth in response.

‘Was his centre always cruelty?’

‘Yes,’ Gwyn said, and Augus chuckled.

‘What a nightmare he must have been for his parents.’

Gwyn shrugged. It was a nightmare for everyone. And, yet, even though his family had minded their hounds and horses and hunting falcons around him, he had still had his appetites indulged. The key with Efnisien, according to his blood-line, was simply ‘redirection.’ He was permitted to be cruel, as long as he found the right place to direct it. His father counselled that cruelty didn’t matter, especially on a battle-field, where it could be an asset. Unfortunately for Gwyn, the family thought he was a wonderful target for redirection.

‘What a nightmare he must have been for you,’ Augus continued, and then opened his mouth against Gwyn’s properly, licking a hot, wet stripe across the seam of his closed lips. ‘Open, Gwyn. Open for me.’

Gwyn shuddered at the words, warmth curled through him and one of his legs straightened. His mouth opened automatically. Augus licked at his bottom lip, slowly, and then slanted his mouth over Gwyn’s and exhaled softly against him. It was simple, sensual, and when Augus withdrew, Gwyn took a deep, slow breath. He began to relax in spite of himself.

‘Were you made to play together? I know how it is, when you have two young fae that are a similar age. Everyone over two centuries expects that they will just enjoy each other’s company by default. So of course...’

‘Of course,’ Gwyn said, thinking that was one of the most stupid of fae presumptions. That age would correlate directly with friendship.

‘He must have made your life miserable.’

Gwyn shook his head.

‘It wasn’t as bad as you presume. I could often outsmart him, and on those occasions I would leave him to his own devices.’

‘ _Often?’_ Augus said, ‘and pray tell what occurred on the occasions when you could not outsmart him?’

‘Well, I would heal, wouldn’t I?’ Gwyn said, brow furrowing. ‘We were Outer Court even then, there wasn’t much he could do that would leave lasting damage. And he wouldn’t risk mother’s wrath by leaving anything like a scar. Her centre is appearance, remember?’

Augus was silent for some time, and Gwyn wondered what he was thinking. But just as he thought he should check that Augus wasn’t distracted, Augus pressed his mouth against Gwyn’s again. He kept the kiss languid, leaned closer, reaching underneath Gwyn’s head so that he could trace firm fingers along the back of his neck. Gwyn was surprised at how good that felt, moaned. When Augus had talked about aftercare, Gwyn didn’t know he meant _this._

‘Your cousin abused you,’ Augus said, as he withdrew, ‘and the only way you could stop it, was – at least for a while – to run away from him.’

Gwyn narrowed his eyes at Augus, confused, and Augus was frowning at him.

‘Your family is a nest of adders,’ Augus said. ‘And you? What kind of snake are you?’

A chill crept over him at that, and Gwyn felt tension flood through his body. Augus leaned in to kiss him once more, and Gwyn jerked backwards. Augus looked vexed, and then the fingers at the back of his neck started stroking again.

‘Am I still pushing you too hard?’ Augus said, ‘Really?’

He leaned in again, and Gwyn decided he’d had enough. It wasn’t that he hated it, it was just that he didn’t spend time with people like this. He could never tell when he was in dangerous territory. It wasn’t like looking at a chess board, or a map, and knowing where to go next.

Gwyn lurched sideways, pushed himself up off the bed and-

-A terrible pain ripped straight through his chest, rust and nails splitting through him. He hunched in on himself, heard the echo of his own cry in his head, had a fist pressed up hard against his sternum and focused on breathing, because gasping – even though it carried the illusion of breathing – was not the same thing. His cells felt like they were burning from the inside, and it was an old, familiar agony. He didn’t know what to do to make it stop, there was nothing else except the pain, and trying to suppress the pain.

After a few minutes he became aware of a hand rubbing circles into his upper back. He was shaking. Another hand was pulling gently at his shoulder.

‘Gwyn, come along, lie down. Lie down. Can you hear me? Are you listening?’

Gwyn made a sound of acknowledgement, and Augus swore in what sounded like relief.

‘Lie down, Gwyn. Come along now. Lie down. You almost broke the blood-oath, you stupid fool.’

His eyes opened wide, realising that Augus was right. He lowered himself back onto the bed in stilted movements, and Augus followed, mouth pinched with worry.

It was all so _odd._ This was not the Augus he had come to expect from his actions as the Unseelie King, this was very much an Augus he had met a long time ago, the one that Ash remembered. Could that even be possible? And if it was, _when_ had it happened?

‘I expected you to have difficulty with this oath, but not like _this_ ,’ Augus said, as Gwyn bent his legs once more, folded his arms over his chest. ‘Not within _ten minutes_ of making it.’

‘Good to know I can surprise you,’ Gwyn managed, chest aching. He was exhausted.

‘Yes, it’s fantastic. How much pain are you in again? Tell me how good that is for you.’

Gwyn didn’t reply, too busy trying to breathe through the pain. It was still sharp. It felt as though foreign objects were clogging his veins and arteries. He hated fae law at the best of times, he loathed blood-oaths.

Augus slid his fingers under Gwyn’s folded arms until his palm was resting over his heart. He measured its beat, which Gwyn didn’t think would be too difficult, as he could feel it pounding away himself.

‘You idiot,’ Augus said quietly. ‘You _idiot.’_

‘Is this also aftercare?’ Gwyn said, voice hoarse with pain, and Augus actually bared his teeth at him in a snarl.

‘You have to let me learn how to do this for you. You blood-oathed it Gwyn, you can’t just quit, remember? Not until _I_ deem it sufficient aftercare. And I _don’t._ ’

‘Release me from the oath,’ Gwyn said, as he lowered his head back to the pillows, wishing the pain would just ease off. He understood, already, that he’d almost broken the oath. He didn’t need the oath to keep reminding him of that fact.

‘No,’ Augus said, putting his hand up to Gwyn’s lips and stroking them. ‘No. I won’t. Definitely not now.’

He licked his way along Gwyn’s jawline, all the way up to the upper rise of his cheekbone, where he then shifted so that he could press his lips against Gwyn’s once more, asking permission by licking against his closed mouth, patient and slow, until Gwyn sighed and realised that he wanted this part. He wanted it more than he thought he could. His mind was clearing, the headache was falling away. For the first time since waking up, he felt something that was almost good. It was so rare that he wanted to preserve it for years. He _never_ felt like this. Augus’ hand was still pressed against his chest, still measuring his heartbeat.

He opened his mouth, touched Augus’ tongue as it slid in carefully, and Augus made an approving noise that went a long way to soothing the pain in his chest. He leaned up, wanting to see if he could draw the noise forth again, and Augus chuckled and pulled backwards.

‘Slow,’ Augus said. ‘I’m not fucking you. You’re not fucking me. It’s just this.’

‘Yes, okay,’ Gwyn said, and Augus kissed him again, a smile on his lips. He pressed closed lips to the edges of Gwyn’s mouth, ran his tongue again over Gwyn’s bottom lip, his top lip, and then shifted so that he was leaning closer. His fingers pressed into Gwyn’s chest, and Gwyn’s arms unlocked. He lifted one arm and curled fingers around Augus’ shoulder, heart leaping when Augus made that approving noise again; half-hum, half-groan.

The pain eased further, and Gwyn straightened one of his legs, followed Augus’ pace. For all that Augus didn’t believe him, Gwyn wasn’t interested in fucking. He was too tired. The day had been too long. But this was...good. Unexpected, but still good.

‘The first thing you did, when you woke up, was start chasing up that plot against my brother. Wasn’t it?’ Augus whispered against his mouth, and Gwyn shrugged.

‘I got dressed first.’

‘You’re sure Ash will be safe?’

‘I’m not done with following this up. I’ll tell you when I’m sure,’ Gwyn said, and then he forgot what he was going to say next when Augus slid his tongue back into his mouth. Augus took the lead and the kiss was a slow, drugging affair that ended with Gwyn hesitantly carding his fingers through Augus’ damp hair and finding something like relaxation threading all the way through him. Augus withdrew slowly, and Gwyn absently licked at the thin string of saliva that connected them.

Augus looked down at Gwyn appraisingly.

‘I didn’t realise you had problems sleeping around others,’ Augus said, ‘I do as well. I wouldn’t have suggested it, if I had known.’

Gwyn opened his mouth to reply, but Augus kissed him again. Gwyn went with it. He often ignored kissing in his own encounters with others, it was too intimate, it distracted him from what he was trying to do. But Gwyn enjoyed it very much. He didn’t bother opening his eyes when Augus withdrew again, only shifted so that he was more comfortable on the bed. The ache in his chest was a distant memory, the blood-oath itself already feeling surprisingly more settled within his skin.

‘There, there we go,’ Augus said quietly. ‘You hold yourself back from it, don’t you?’

‘From what?’ Gwyn said, but Augus didn’t reply. He rubbed his hand over Gwyn’s chest, ducked his head until damp hair was brushing against Gwyn’s cheek.

‘I don’t think you need to stay here anymore, if you don’t wish to. I think this is sufficient, especially for someone with...the problems you have with this. But I’d like for you to stay longer. No one will come in here. It will be quiet. I do know you like quiet.’

Gwyn blinked and realised that Augus was releasing him from the aftercare. Gwyn considered getting up, leaving as quickly as possible, but if he went back to his own room, he would only teleport straight back out again. There were always things to do in the Seelie Court. Especially now that he had to make sure he wouldn’t be put in the awkward position of having to explain why he flatly refused to allow Augus to be a quarry in the Wild Hunt.

‘Stay,’ Augus said, kissing him gently. ‘Stay.’

‘An hour,’ Gwyn said, and Augus nodded, his lips shifting against Gwyn’s mouth with the movement. Then Augus slanted his lips over Gwyn’s and they kissed until Gwyn felt himself start to stir. Augus withdrew and looked down with sleepy eyes, blown pupils.

‘I’m stopping now,’ Augus said, smiling. ‘We’re just going to lie here for an hour. And then you can decide what you want to do after that.’

Augus moved until he was lying alongside Gwyn, one arm across his torso, hand up and over his chest.

‘So this is aftercare?’ Gwyn said, realising that he was getting used to parts of his body being damp as a result of Augus’ hair.

‘Right now, yes. Later? Who knows.’

‘Because it changes,’ Gwyn said, deciding that he just...didn’t need to move for a little while. He lowered his other leg carefully, and Augus immediately slung his leg over it. It was possessive, but Gwyn couldn’t bring himself to mind. He licked his lips, tasted Augus on them. He kept expecting to start panicking, to fear how quickly and easily Augus had brought him to heel; but the panic felt far away. It had fallen so far he didn’t even want to reach for it anymore.

It could wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, 'Sounding:' 
> 
> ‘Show me how to do this correctly,’ Gwyn said, voice softening. This would go far easier if he had at least a measure of Augus’ cooperation. ‘Extend me a measure of trust.’


	15. Sounding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New tags for this chapter: [Sounding,](http://goaskalice.columbia.edu/cock-stuffing) Medical Kink
> 
> I have placed a link to what Sounding is above. Now, we're heading into some fairly extreme kink territory here, I've handled the subject as sensitively as I can. Always remember that you should in NO WAY be learning anything about BDSM from Augus and Gwyn. Ever. Lol.
> 
> *
> 
> Thank you everyone for your comments. I'm kind of certain I might lose some readers for this chapter, because this kink is quite unusual, so if you are sticking around, or didn't hate it, please consider leaving a comment just to let me know. <3 Everyone else; remember you can skip whatever you need to, and well, people like what they like and no kinkshaming please.

To say he felt shaken by the events of the past few weeks was an understatement. How he’d managed to end up with Augus getting him to blood-oath that he’d accept aftercare, of _all_ things, was something that he still felt bewildered about. If he thought about it for too long, he ended up getting very distracted in meetings, trying to figure out at which point his life had become completely unrecognisable.

He wanted something of normalcy back, wanted to remind himself that he was – actually – in charge of the situation he found himself in. The very idea made a tiny part of his mind burst into derisive laughter, but that part of his mind sounded a littlelike Augus, and he shoved it away.

Gwyn carried a thin, wooden box, his heart thumping with anticipation. He’d had some very interesting conversations over the past week, with some very interesting people. He’d ended up outsourcing a small amount of labour to a discreet metal-smith. He spoke a long forgotten dialect that Gwyn himself only knew because his father had encouraged him to study lost languages when he was younger; although that was so that he might learn rare or forgotten war strategies and apply them in battle.

Augus had given him an idea, and finally he decided to act on it. There weren’t many people he could ask ‘What is sounding?’ to, and in the end he’d requested a private audience with Gulvi and put the question to her.

Once she’d stopped laughing at him, she’d asked him why he wanted to know, eyebrows arched and face wearing the tiredness of someone new to being Queen and still finding her way through it all. Gwyn shrugged, which he’d used as explanations before, and  Gulvi accepted and had explained it to him. Eventually he’d realised that she was delighting in making him squirm, and he asked her to be more serious. At that, she’d shaken her head and actually explained it so that it didn’t sound like a horror story.

And now he held a thin, wooden box, carried a thin line of tension down the back of his spine.

Augus was waiting for him when Gwyn entered his main bedroom. He was sitting in a chair, one leg folded neatly over the other, moving his foot slowly back and forth and staring at the doorway even as Gwyn entered. Augus could always tell when he was coming, though Gwyn rarely approached quietly. Augus looked at the box, intrigued. He closed the book that he’d been reading – something about humanitarian philosophy – and Gwyn stared at the title in shock. Augus looked at the title himself and then grimaced.

'It’s not to my taste,’ he said, though he sounded oddly defensive as he said it.

‘Come with me,’ Gwyn said, and Augus smirked at him.

‘Am I back to being a prisoner again?’

‘You _are_ a prisoner,’ Gwyn said, voice hardening, and reached out with his free hand to clench his fingers around Augus’ upper arm.

He teleported them to one of the lesser used rooms in the interior of his circular, maze-like home. He eschewed the rooms covered with moss and bracken, carpeted with lichen, and brought them both instead to a sprawling bedroom panelled in pale ash. It was a bedroom, study, it even had a stretch of cleared space wide and long enough for shortsword drills whenever Gwyn decided he needed to brush up on his weapons skills. Wooden stools and chairs were up against the wall, by the bed, in the middle of the walkways. It wasn’t so much that he used them – he hardly ever used them – it was that he couldn’t decide on a final design, and so kept choosing, hoping the right one would present itself. In the end the room had ended up with too many and Gwyn had simply moved to another one.

He’d developed some strange habits, since becoming King.

‘Always a hoarder,’ Augus said quietly, looking at the collection of stools.

‘Sit,’ Gwyn pointed to a chair, and Augus simply folded his arms.

‘Oh no,’ Augus laughed, ‘don’t start taking my obedience for granted.’

‘Do you think I take your obedience for granted?’ Gwyn said, and Augus shrugged eloquently.

Gwyn thought of different things he could say, but instead he opened the box, and let Augus’ eyes wander over the long, metal sounds. Augus’ eyes narrowed, and then his lips tightened into a scowl.

‘I sincerely hope you’re showing me these to illustrate that you’d like me to try. On you.’

Gwyn smiled, he couldn’t help himself. Augus’ eyes widened.

‘If you recall, you were the one who suggested it, Augus,’ Gwyn said and Augus threw his hands into the air. The gesture was so exasperated that Gwyn suddenly felt like he was younger, when his sword-master had frequently made the same gesture in a mixture of frustration and impatience when Gwyn had taken too long to learn a new skill.

‘Yes, I also brought up blood. First. So why don’t you go get some sharpened knives, come back, and you’d still do _less damage.’_

Gwyn frowned.

‘You’ll heal,’ Gwyn said, and Augus’ fists clenched. He looked affronted that Gwyn had even said as much.

‘I may be Capital fae now, but perhaps you’d like to remind yourself how long even Capital fae take to heal from _serious_ internal injury. Do you even remember? You probably don’t, as I don’t recall you have ever been anything lower than Court, with your privileged upbringing and your _estate._ Aside from the fact that you could ruin your fucktoy for _weeks,_ tell me how many fae healers you’d trust to look after _me?’_

Gwyn stared at him, shocked. He supposed he should have expected this, but Gwyn had been very careful about looking up sounding, asking Gulvi, even talking to the metal-smith about it. Augus made it sound like Gwyn was just going to ruin his internal organs and walk away. Gwyn’s teeth clenched. Whenever someone thought he couldn’t do something, an old rebellion awoke in him. It stirred inside of his chest, awakening an old stubbornness.

_I can do this._

Augus suddenly walked over to the chair and sat down anyway, crossing one leg over the other, folding his arms in what looked like a fair attempt at a tantrum. Gwyn pulled up another chair and sat opposite him, resting the box of sounds on his own lap. Augus eyed it warily. Gwyn expected him to put up more of a fight, given that Augus had only dominated him a short time ago. Perhaps the fight was coming.

‘I’ll be gentle,’ Gwyn said, wincing even as he said it. It wasn’t that he _couldn’t_ be gentle, but it wasn’t exactly like Augus had any reason to believe him. Which was probably why Augus was laughing at him. The sound grated.

‘I’m sorry, I apologise, but _you?_ Gwyn, I’ll spell it out for you... If you make _one_ mistake, if you get over-excited like the undersexed dog that you are and make _one_ mistake, you could – among other things – ruin my bladder. Believe me when I tell you that I’m not interested in pissing blood for weeks, or days, or really, _at all._ And I may be Capital fae, but internal injuries can still kill me if infection sets in, if the damage is bad enough. And as a bed partner, you don’t just make one mistake, you seem determined to make _all_ of them. Why don’t you just put the sounds down, and fuck me like the beast you are, instead?’

Gwyn could hear the fear in the back of Augus’ words. It made the insults easier to bear.

‘Did you ever injure any of the people you did this to?’

‘Injure? Of course. With sounds? You have got to be joking.’

Gwyn swallowed, edged closer. Augus stared at him in shock, as though only just realising that Gwyn was serious.

‘Then I’ve got a good teacher, have I not?’ Gwyn dragged his chair forward and placed both of his hands on Augus’ knees. The gesture wasn’t designed to be reassuring, it was proprietary. It was a reminder. Augus stared down at Gwyn’s fingers and took a sudden, sharp, shaky breath.

His muscles bunched to stand, and Gwyn acted quickly. With one hand he placed the box of sounds on a nearby table, at the same time, he reached up and dug his fingers into Augus’ shoulder. By the time Augus reached out to dig fingers into pressure points, no doubt, Gwyn had immobilised both of his wrists in a single hand, and was standing up himself, staring down at him.

‘I told you to _sit,’_ Gwyn said, and Augus stared at him. ‘If you thought that you would dominate me once, and that would be the end of this, you were mistaken. And if you thought that you could cow me away from having you in the manner that I _want_ you, then you need to remember your place.’

Augus’ eyes were flinty. He splayed his fingers and then jerked them hard. Gwyn stumbled, but didn’t fall. Gwyn had under-estimated how strong Augus could be, and transferred Augus’ wrists to both of his own hands, squeezing the joints hard enough that Augus winced.

‘I would prefer not to tie you up for this, but I will if I have to,’ Gwyn said.

‘This is a dangerous game you play with me, Gwyn,’ Augus snarled. ‘The next time you need to be broken, perhaps I will _truly_ break you. Who will run your precious Kingdom then?’

Gwyn pursed his lips.

‘Show me how to do this correctly,’ Gwyn said, his voice softening. This would go far easier if he had at least a measure of Augus’ cooperation. ‘Extend me a measure of trust.’

Augus’ expression changed. Something showed beneath a crack in the hardness of his features, as though he hadn’t expected Gwyn refer to those words again.

‘I did the same to you, didn’t I?’ Gwyn said, and Augus’ fingers trembled as they bent into claws, as though he would like nothing better than to slice Gwyn’s skin open and tear him apart. Gwyn kept a firm grip on his wrists, waited.

‘Oath it,’ Augus said. ‘Oath it that you will _listen_ to me, and that you will be _gentle,_ and tell me that you can think of a single fae healer that would attend me, and then I’ll consider it.’

‘You want an _oath?’_ Gwyn looked over at the box of sounds, bewildered. ‘You want blood? Again?’

‘Yes, actually, if you don’t mind.’

Gwyn realised that Augus was serious about the blood-oath.

‘Aftercare, and now this? Augus, I-’

‘No,’ Augus said, voice firm. ‘I oathed not to cause you death or permanent injury. I require something of the same from you in this. You want me to extend you a measure of trust? Look at you. You’re not a graceful, gentle creature. Now let go of my wrists and make the oath. Obviously you won’t be reasoned with, because you’re an oaf who likes nothing more than to follow the foolish directions of his own cock; but in this, in _this,_ you will listen to me.’

Augus’ gaze slid sideways to the sounds gleaming new and dangerous, like slender weapons, in their box. He swallowed, and Gwyn felt the shudder he gave all the way through the fingers where he held his wrists.

Gwyn let go, stepped back and waited to see what Augus would do.

If Augus truly decided to fight him now...

He’d killed Efnisien when he was still underfae. Gwyn realised, with a sort of sinking horror, that Augus could possibly kill Gwyn now that he was Capital. He had too much power for a waterhorse. If Augus decided to seriously pit his strength against Gwyn’s now, Gwyn found himself wondering if he’d actually have to dump Augus back in the cell or demote him again. He found himself almost glad to have an excuse for it, he knew he shouldn’t keep Augus up in his palatial rooms, protected, as a Capital fae. He _knew_ he shouldn’t.

Augus watched him, considering, and then lowered himself back to the chair again, exhaling slowly. He folded his arms, managed to look singularly unimpressed.

Gwyn realised that if he wanted to do this – and he _did –_ he would have to actually listen to Augus,  actually pay attention, practice self-restraint. Not his normal version of self-restraint, which involved paying attention a little bit and pushing hard whenever there was a moment of leeway.

Gwyn walked to the table where the sounds were resting and drew out drawers slowly, rummaging inside of them until he found an old, copper letter opener. The sides were blunt, but the tip was still sharp. He came back and sat down opposite Augus, who seemed nonchalant about everything that was occurring. Gwyn could read his tension in the stillness of him, in the way he couldn’t see Augus’ hands properly when they were folded like that.

‘Pazhna, she would heal you if anything went wrong. She wasn’t waterfae, and wasn’t directly affected by your actions. She’d do what I said.’

It was a risk to take, however. Pazhna might do as he said, but she might not keep his secrets. He’d have to make sure he didn’t injure him.

He didn’t _want_ to injure him.

Gwyn nocked a mark into the side of his little finger. His little finger was marked with tiny scars, including a recent, reddish one that was still fading; a result of his oath to agree to aftercare. The blood-oath scars never went away, it didn’t matter what status one was. Fae didn’t need much blood as a sign of proof, the law of nature provided enough consequence if an oath wasn’t upheld. Augus shifted restlessly at the sign of the blood, and Gwyn looked from the welling drop to Augus’ hungry eyes. _Interesting._

‘Thirsty?’ Gwyn said, and Augus looked away, his fingers clenched. It seemed like he hadn’t wanted Gwyn to know that he was still yearning for the taste of blood and flesh, in whatever form it came in. He would die from lack of water long before he would ever die from lack of human meat, but that didn’t mean Augus wasn’t feeling it.

It rocked Gwyn to realise that Augus was _weak_ as a Capital fae, and he was still as strong as he was. That he had killed Efnisien without the benefit of a single proper meal for months...

Gwyn stilled, eyes wide. That was disturbing. He looked over at Augus, calculating.

‘If you let me do this, I could possibly see about getting you something to eat.’

‘Let’s be crass, you mean some _one,’_ Augus said.

Besides, Gwyn hadn’t said anything about _when_ he would get Augus something to eat.

‘Your feeding habits never bothered me, Augus. Now, this oath.’

Gwyn thought carefully about his wording, and eventually managed to cobble something together that was half-decent. He felt strange offering yet another blood-oath up to Augus – oaths were something you offered an equal – and to offer two in such a short space of time was unusual even amongst comrades, friends or family. He felt strange promising to be gentle, promising to _listen,_ to not injure. He was offended that Augus thought he couldn’t do either without the promise, yet he knew that he’d given Augus no reason to think that he could. It twinged at something inside his chest.

‘Adequate,’ Augus said, when he was finished.

‘Tell me what to do,’ Gwyn said quietly, looking at the small cut on the side of his little finger. He could actually _feel_ the oath. That he could feel it already was perhaps a sign that he did need it. An oath only tended to be felt upon its making when there was a chance that the maker was on the edge of not respecting its requirements.

‘Do we need to move?’ Gwyn said.

Augus frowned, shifted uncomfortably.

‘Sitting is fine. Show me the box.’

Gwyn brought the box over the from the table, and showed it to Augus. He took it from Gwyn’s hands and looked at the sounds. After a while he heaved a huge breath, pursed his lips together.

‘I haven’t experienced this before,’ Augus said, hands fisting on the crafted wood.

Gwyn blinked.

‘But...you do it to others. You know how,’ Gwyn said, shocked. Augus nodded, closed-mouthed, radiating discomfort. ‘You never tried?’

Augus didn’t answer, which was itself an answer. Gwyn wondered just how long Augus had been doing to others, but not accepting in return. He wondered how Augus had ever stumbled across the concept of sounding in the first place, and if he’d made any mistakes the first time he’d tried it. Knowing him, likely not.

Gwyn moved his chair forwards until his knee slipped between Augus’. He took the box carefully and set it down on a stool beside them, picking up the vial of lubricant and the thinnest sound; a slender, straight metal rod that rested lightly in his hand.

‘Not...that one,’ Augus said, closing his eyes, pained. His voice was taut.

‘But-’

‘Counterintuitive, I know, but the thinnest ones are more likely to pierce or do damage if mishandled.’

Gwyn paused, looking down at the sounds. He was completely out of his depth, and he knew it. He picked the next size up and looked over at Augus, who nodded reluctantly. He realised his own breathing was shallow. He glanced up at Augus’ chest, and noticed that although Augus was keeping his breathing mastered, there were odd pauses between every inhale and exhale, as though he was constantly holding his breath.

‘They’re good quality,’ Augus said, though he stared at the sound apprehensively.

‘Yes,’ Gwyn said. ‘I...had them made.’

Augus’ eyes shot up to Gwyn’s and he managed a dark breath of laughter.

‘Taking notes?’ Augus said. Gwyn looked at the sound and then turned it in his fingers.

‘I was curious,’ Gwyn said, wondering if Augus understood. Gwyn couldn’t help it. There were a great deal of things, especially these sorts of things, that he didn’t know about. Augus had introduced him to some things, but Gwyn was still curious.

‘When you do it, what were you trying to make them feel?’ Gwyn said, as he placed a liberal amount of lubricant onto his fingers and the sound, slicking them up as much as possible. The sound was cold, and he warmed it in his palm. It felt like a thin arrow shaft.

Augus’ breath hitched.

‘Tell me,’  Gwyn said, ‘I made an oath I’d listen to you. I want to know.’

Augus said nothing, shaking his head slowly, staring at the sound between Gwyn’s fingers.

‘Okay,’ Gwyn said, moving in closer, resting the vial of lubricant nearby, so that it was in reach. ‘Undress. And tell me what I should be looking out for. What’s bad?’

Augus stood quietly and unbuttoned his pants, stepping sideways so that he could step out of them gracefully. He didn’t remove his shirt. Gwyn thought about pressing him to, then decided that this was already uncomfortable enough for Augus. Perhaps that would be pushing it. Augus sat down again, and Gwyn looked down at his bare legs, the knees resting on either side of his own.

Augus closed his eyes as Gwyn moved his chair further forward until his knee bumped up against Augus’ chair, forcing his legs slightly apart. He reached forwards, looking up at Augus quickly, before looking down and taking Augus’ limp member carefully between his hands. One of the people he’d talked to said it was better to start this way.

Gwyn positioned the sound, thinking perhaps he should have offered something approaching foreplay first, but Augus likely wanted this out of the way as quickly as possible, and Gwyn was unaccountably nervous. He wanted to focus. He had to concentrate. He could feel the blood-oath in his blood, a reminder that he’d promised to be gentle and slow and listen. He felt oddly attuned to Augus, aware of the way he was quietly holding his breath on every inhale, of the way his left thigh trembled briefly, but his right didn’t.

When the tip of the sound touched the head of Augus’ cock, Augus thinned his lips, his head bowed forward.

‘What you should be looking out for,’ Augus said, voice quiet.

‘Tell me,’ Gwyn said, the volume of his voice matching Augus’. He felt now that they were doing something secret, it was disconcerting.

‘Discomfort...is okay,’ Augus said, and Gwyn shivered, warmed. ‘Burning...usually okay. Try and avoid it. Sharp pain, _not_ okay.’

‘So it’s meant to make you uncomfortable?’ Gwyn whispered, and his cock stirred in his pants.

‘Will you just start?’ Augus said, and Gwyn shook his head, bowed his head beside Augus’. He could smell his hair; fresh water and silt, greenness and something that could have been pollen. It was like stumbling across a lake in a forest. He could sense the fine shivers moving through Augus’ body.

‘I can’t, you have to tell me how. Also, I find that I’m nervous,’ Gwyn said, and Augus huffed out a single breath of laughter.

‘But you won’t stop, will you?’

Gwyn flushed, heat moving through him. No, he didn’t plan on stopping. He _wanted_ this.

‘I like making you uncomfortable, Augus. I like the idea of doing something to you that’s never been done before. How do I start?’

Augus made a sound of frustration. He wrapped cautious fingers around Gwyn’s, where they rested on the sound. He left three of his fingers on Gwyn’s hand, and took his thumb and forefinger to the sound itself, running the flat of his thumb along it as though testing the lubricant.

‘Do I need more?’ Gwyn said, and Augus looked at him. He opened his mouth and then seemed to think the better of it, closing it again. He lowered his head, and Gwyn felt his curls snag against the dampness of Augus’ hair. They were close, both concentrating, and Gwyn was starting to feel impatient, because he wanted to seewhat it would be like, even if they never did it again.

Augus eased the tip of the sound into the slit of his cock and then his breathing stumbled. He paused, and then forced his breathing to evenness again, but the side of his head pressed against Gwyn’s and his other hand had clenched into the top of his thigh.

‘Slowly,’ Augus said, ‘Push _slowly._ Whatever you think slow is, do it slower.’

Augus let go of the sound, but kept his fingers on Gwyn’s.

‘Aren’t you going to guide me?’ Gwyn said, breath starting to desert him.

‘Gwyn, the logic of this is simple. You’re easing metal into my cock. If you don’t understand that, then perhaps you might want to find a Mage who can improve your intelli-’

Augus’ breath cut off with a gasp as Gwyn applied a slow, firm pressure to the sound. Contrary to what Augus might think, he was more than capable of doing something like this slowly. He’d had to draw arrows back with an infinite patience, not spooking animals he was hunting. He’d had to creep silently along forest floors that seemed made of twigs and dry crackling leaves. He knew how to control his body, and despite his nervousness, despite his awareness of the blood-oath, he could do it now.

The tip disappeared, and Gwyn felt the slight pressure of Augus’ urethra against the sound, and suddenly Augus’ hand moved from his own leg to Gwyn’s, his claws dug through his pants.

_‘Slow,’_ Augus whispered.

‘Does it hurt?’ Gwyn said, his voice deeper. He applied a little more downward pressure, slowed down, watched mesmerised as the sound continued down another centimetre. His blood-oath stayed dormant. Augus was trembling now, it was harder for him to even out his breathing. His exhales were shaky.

‘Does it hurt?’ Gwyn repeated and there was a pause, Augus bit off a sound in the back of his throat. ‘You want to tell me that it hurts doesn’t it? But you can’t. It’s a lie.’

‘I...’ Augus’ fingers dug into the back of Gwyn’s hand. ‘It’s uncomfortable.’

‘That’s the point, isn’t it?’ Gwyn whispered, and Augus shuddered on his chair. When Gwyn twisted the sound, carefully, hoping to distribute lubricant more evenly, Augus made a small, shocked sound.

‘Did that hurt?’ Gwyn said, even though his blood-oath was staying mercifully silent.

‘No, it’s just,’ Augus laughed. ‘It’s different.’

_Different._ Gwyn could work with that.

He applied downward pressure again, moving with care, gentleness. The sound continued to disappear, deeper still, until Augus’ breathing was nowhere near even and his hand flexed and released on the back of Gwyn’s hand with a strange, helpless tension. The other hand on Gwyn’s thigh had drawn blood, but as it hadn’t moved and Augus clearly wasn’t trying to injure him, Gwyn ignored it.

Augus suddenly opened his mouth and a syllable of sound fell out of it, sharp but not pained.

‘Wait,’ Augus said, and Gwyn stopped immediately. ‘You’re...you’re going to hit resistance, if you keep, if you- Stop when you reach it. Stop and hold the sound still.’

‘I haven’t reached it yet,’ Gwyn said, sensitive to the feel of what he was doing.

‘No,’ Augus agreed, and suddenly his forehead was resting on Gwyn’s shoulder. He moaned when Gwyn twisted the sound again, and then held on when Gwyn started moving the sound once more. Gwyn honoured the concept of slow, but he didn’t plan on stopping. It was strange, seeing Augus coming apart like this. Strange being the one to do it. He was used to Augus being the one in control – even when Gwyn was hurting him, Augus still kept his breathing mostly even, there was still something detached and separate about him. But now, this was...

He liked the feel of Augus’ forehead pressing hard against his shoulder. He liked knowing how vulnerable Augus was, not because he could hurt him, but because he _wasn’t._

‘Wait, wait, _wait,’_ Augus said again, slightly panicked, and Gwyn slowed down even more, but didn’t stop. He felt no resistance, he could tell that this was Augus’ discomfort, and not a physiological issue.

‘Shhh,’ Gwyn whispered. ‘It’s supposed to be uncomfortable. Remember?’

Augus’ voice cracked into nothingness, and he reached forward with the hand on Gwyn’s thigh, and clutched at his abdomen instead.

‘Remember your oath,’ Augus said and Gwyn nodded.

‘Remember to breathe,’ he said, and Augus laughed on short, shallow breaths.

Gwyn stopped as soon as he hit a point of resistance, and held his hand still, cradling Augus’ cock in his hand, and holding the sound still with the other. He waited, occasionally twisting the sound and drinking up every full body shudder it wrung out of Augus. His own breathing was shaky, and he forced it to calm. He was hard, couldn’t help it. He hadn’t expected to enjoy this so much. It wasn’t so much the sounding itself, but the fact that Augus was leaning against him, was still holding on even though all movement had stopped. Seeing him like this was addictive.

‘How does it feel?’ Gwyn said, and Augus shifted his head until it was tucked against Gwyn’s neck.

‘Deep,’ Augus said. ‘Hilarious, because I know there’s more to come.’

‘There is,’ Gwyn said, twisting the sound again. Augus’ throat worked on something that might have been a whimper, if it had come free.

‘Move,’ Augus said quickly. ‘Push. You’ll, there will be a point where the sound moves on its own. Let it. Stop pushing at that point. Do you understand?’

Gwyn nodded once, and then applied a firm, careful pressure to the sound again. He watched it disappear and paid attention to each of Augus’ reactions, the bitten off sounds, the helpless breathing, the tremors. Gwyn felt immediately when gravity took over. The sound started to move down of its own accord, and Gwyn’s eyes widened. He kept his fingers on it, making sure it didn’t move too quickly, and Augus was making caught, almost frightened noises in the back of his throat with every shallow breath.

‘You’re doing well,’ Gwyn said, and Augus shook his head.

‘You, you’re doing well. Who would have thought? You’re – _ah.’_

The sound stopped, seated itself at a point of natural resistance. Gwyn knew not to apply any more pressure now. He held the sound still, and Augus moaned against his neck.

‘Oh,’ Augus breathed in surprise. ‘It’s _good.’_

Gwyn’s cock twitched to hear him say it in that disarmed, shocked tone.

‘No wonder...’ Augus trailed off and said nothing else, and Gwyn shifted his hands so that he was holding onto Augus’ cock and the sound with one hand, and he could reach out and rub Augus’ thigh with something like reassurance.

‘What now?’ Gwyn said and Augus shivered.

‘I was going to suggest the next size up but...I think I’m going to, I think it’s going to be a tight fit soon, and you shouldn’t.’

Gwyn frowned, disappointed. It was already a tight fit, though not nearly so much as when they’d started. He had been hoping to at least move onto a slightly larger sound, but he would trust what Augus said. He’d expected subterfuge or deceit, he’d expected Augus to lie and say that Gwyn would have to stop early, or that there was nothing else to do; knowing from Gulvi and others that there were other things he could try. But Augus was participating, and Gwyn would listen to whatever he said.

‘Several things,’ Augus said. ‘You can twist it, as you have been. Like _that...’_

Augus’ voice sharpened and his fingers dug into Gwyn’s ribs. Gwyn twisted the sound again, and Augus claws broke Gwyn’s skin, an absent movement that left a small amount of blood trickling down his torso. Augus was taking deep lungfuls of air now, and Gwyn stilled everything once more, giving Augus a moment to collect himself. This would normally be the point at which he pushed harder, demanded more, but he was painfully aware of the blood-oath in his cells, he was aware of Augus’ trembling, the weight of his head against his neck. There was none of the detached, guarded waterhorse here.

So Gwyn felt it immediately when Augus began to get hard. His eyes widened in surprise, and Augus hissed, scraping claws down Gwyn’s skin, clearly discomfited.

‘Augus...’ Gwyn was worried. ‘Augus, what do I do, you have to tell me.’

‘It’s _fine,’_ Augus said, but his voice indicated that he was struggling with it. He realised the pressure against the sound had to be building a great deal, and he reached out and placed a gentling hand against Augus’ side.

‘Talk to me,’ Gwyn pleaded.

Augus cried out, shook his head, and then bit wetly at Gwyn’s collarbone.

‘It’s normal, I need a moment...to get used to it,’ Augus said, his normally smooth voice ragged.

Upon hearing that it was normal, Gwyn started to relax. Started to fully appreciate just how aroused Augus was, despite whatever discomfort he was experiencing.

‘What do I do?’ Gwyn whispered, and Augus laughed. The sound was faintly mocking, but Gwyn couldn’t tell – in that moment – who the laugh was directed at. Augus took a deep, shaking breath and then started to force his breath to evenness again. Gwyn wished he could simply trust his instincts in this, but there were no instincts available to him. He’d never done anything like this before, it never occurred to him that people _could_ dothis.

‘Many things,’ Augus managed, voice more composed than before. ‘I would suggest twisting first, so I may get used to it. And then, you can tap your nail against the tip, to send vibrations through. You can move the sound up and down, a little, only a centimetre or so, and fuck me with it. You can tighten your hand around my cock, and _tease._ I do recommend starting with turning the sound though, _slowly._ I am not used to this.’

There was a faint, desperate edge to his voice. Gwyn had the absurd instinct to remind Augus to trust him, which was ridiculous, because Augus had no reason to trust him. Gwyn lowered the hand that had reached out to Augus’ side back to his cock, wrapping his fingers around the heat of him but applying no pressure. Still, Augus’ breathing hitched, he tensed.

‘Easy,’ Gwyn said. ‘I’m listening.’

Augus said nothing, though his toes curled against the floor when Gwyn twisted the sound. There was far more pressure now, but the lubricant made it possible, especially as Gwyn was moving so slowly. He repeated the action several more times until the sound moved more easily, and then with his other hands, he stroked fingers lightly along the skin of Augus’ cock, catching some of the lubricant from where the sound disappeared into him, and trailing it back down his length.

Augus made a sound that might have been a moan, if he hadn’t cut it off. Gwyn was harder than ever, but pushed his awareness of that away. This was nothing like what he’d done with Augus in the past. He wanted to know if there were other ways to get Augus to respond to him like this.

Gwyn pulled the sound upwards very carefully, in the hopes of distributing more of the lubricant. He pressed it back down again, and Augus shuddered against him, mouth opening against Gwyn’s shoulder, hot breath gusting out in a burst.

_‘Fuck,’_ Augus said, helpless. ‘Do that again.’

Gwyn, surprised, bowed under the order and repeated the gesture, and Augus made a thin noise, pressed out between lips forced shut. Gwyn kept moving the sound, up and down, only a little, enough that the motion still felt like fucking, knowing that he was penetrating Augus in a way he couldn’t help but be acutely aware of. And Augus was clinging to Gwyn, waves of shivering moving through him. He would force his body to a tense stillness, only for another wave to move through him.

‘You did this to clients?’ Gwyn said, and Augus nodded. ‘Did you ever think you’d like it this much?’

Augus said nothing, and Gwyn turned his head towards Augus’, getting a feel for the motion of what he was doing.

‘Tell me what it feels like,’ he said. His voice was soft, deep. He had to know. More, he wanted to listen to Augus make himself speak through all of that shaking. ‘Tell me, Augus. I said I would listen, give me something to listen to.’

Augus’ breath pushed out from between his teeth, a sound of irritation and helplessness. Gwyn squeezed his hand lightly around Augus’ cock as he drew the sound up, and Augus shouted against him, hoarse. His hips tensed and relaxed so suddenly, that Gwyn had been sure he was about to buck up.

‘Augus,’ Gwyn said, a warning. He didn’t have a hand spare to hold his hips down, and if Augus did buck into the sound, he would damage himself. Gwyn stopped moving the sound, squeezed Augus’ shaft again, before reaching up and thumbing the head of his cock, scraping callouses over the sensitive skin.

‘It’s _different,’_ Augus said, breathing shallow now. ‘It’s disarming. More so because it’s _you._ It was cold, but no longer. I- _Ah-_ ’

Gwyn was pumping Augus’ cock gently, slowly, but it didn’t matter how lightly he did it, the pressure made Augus aware of the sound.

‘Does it hurt?’ Gwyn said, and Augus shook his head slowly, and then nodded. Gwyn’s brow furrowed in confusion.

‘An ache. Nothing damaging. I would know. _You_ would know.’

Gwyn pressed his head against Augus’, damp hair getting the curls on his right-hand side wet. He licked his lips, concentrated. He thought, perhaps, he was starting to get the hang of it now. He wasn’t used to using tools or toys in the bedroom, wasn’t used to using anything else except his own body, and he was aware – more than most, perhaps – that there were gaping holes in his knowledge. This was something he didn’t think he’d ever forget.

He wondered what it would feel like, and a strange mix of fear and intrigue pooled inside of him. He pushed that away too, focused.

He stilled his hand around Augus’ shaft, and then started moving the sound again, up and down, attuned to Augus’ reactions. The action seemed to affect him the most, and Gwyn wondered where it edged in terms of sensation. He knew Augus was a sadist, but he didn’t know much about what Augus himself liked; had never particularly cared to find out in the past. Now he knew that Augus liked this, he didn’t feel the need to make it more complicated than it had to be. Not with Augus restraining his own hips from moving, trembling, breathing in time to the movement of the sound.

He kept moving the sound, speeding up only a little, enough that Augus made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, and then cried out, a sweet, pained sound that made Gwyn aware that he was painfully hard. He spread the leg that was on the outside of Augus’ wider, grunted.

‘Augus,’ Gwyn said, unable to help himself.

‘Don’t stop,’ Augus panted. ‘Just...’

Gwyn nodded, caught up in Augus’ orders, even while he held so much control over the situation, over Augus’ reactions. He kept moving the sound, and then his fingers drifted down and he stroked across the skin of Augus’ balls. Augus jolted hard enough that Gwyn instantly stopped moving the sound and held everything still, as Augus shook and shook and then sunk his teeth down into Gwyn’s skin and moaned.

‘Take the sound out,’ Augus commanded, and Gwyn froze, scared that he’d done the wrong thing. But, if he had, the oath would have activated, wouldn’t it? ‘I’m close. Take it out. _Slowly._ Finish me with your hand. It won’t take long. My stamina is...despairingly close to yours in this.’

Gwyn rolled his eyes at that, and moved the sound up and down several more times, drawing another desperate moan from Augus’ mouth, before withdrawing the sound slowly. Augus’ fingers were flexing against his ribs, absent movements that reflected how caught up in the sensations he was. Gwyn was tempted to tease, tempted to see how long Augus could hold out for, but he said he would listen, and he didn’t want to test. He didn’t know what would happen if Augus came with the sound inside of him, but he didn’t imagine it would be ideal.

When he removed the sound completely, he placed it back on the table by the box carefully, and then turned back to Augus, who was still taking deep breaths, still dragging air into his lungs.

He squeezed Augus’ cock tightly in his fingers, and Augus stiffened, his hips rolled up into Gwyn’s hand. But the sound he made was pained.

‘Sore?’ Gwyn asked again, and Augus nodded.

‘As I have promised many a client in the past...it will be worth it. Will you move your hand,’ Augus said, impatience threading into his voice and turning it into demand. He actually started to growl when Gwyn moved his hand away instead.

‘Calm yourself,’ Gwyn said, ‘Or not. I like you like this.’

He reached for the lubricant and slicked his hand up, even as Augus stared at him with a hungry, angry gaze. But his eyelids fluttered shut and his mouth dropped open when Gwyn returned, using the lubricant to smooth the way and starting a rapid, firm movement that had Augus groaning softly.

Gwyn wished he could get closer, but with both of them sitting, his knee already bumping up against Augus’ chair, there wasn’t much closer to have. With his other hand, he slipped his fingers down and rolled Augus’ balls in his fingers, and Augus made that strangled, pained noise again that Gwyn was certain had etched itself into several different places in his mind.

Gwyn had only a few seconds to realise that he probably should have stripped, before Augus stiffened and came with a silent gasp for air, hot, viscous fluid striping his shirt before he thought to catch the rest in his palm. Augus’ thighs were trembling on either side of Gwyn’s, tightening around his leg, and the claws of his fingers were digging into Gwyn’s skin once more, drawing blood.

Gwyn felt like he was underwater, everything hazy and blurred. His head ached from a combination of the stress of getting the sounding right, and having shoved away awareness of his own hardness for so long. As soon as Augus finished coming, as soon as the last of the hard, almost violent spasms left his body and the aftershocks had wrung out of him, Gwyn raised a come-slick hand to his lips and licked the taste of Augus into his mouth.

He’d wanted to do this when he’d taken Augus into his mouth. He’d wanted to know what he tasted like. Not just the salty, silt-like precome, but the fullness of his actual release.

The flavour was murky water and pondweed, bitter, with an aftertaste that was surprisingly sweet. Gwyn licked more off his palm without thinking about it, staring at the box of sounds with a strange sense of gratitude. He hadn’t expected things to go _that_ well.

When Augus swore, quietly, Gwyn stopped what he was doing immediately and turned back, in case he’d missed something.

Augus had sounded surprised, but when Gwyn caught his expression, Augus looked smug. Gwyn realised he was still licking come off his lips, and blushed, embarrassed. Augus catching him being eager, in moments like this, was disconcerting. A stark reminder that there was nothing Kingly about licking a prisoner’s come off one’s own palm.

_Excellent, Gwyn. You did this to try and gain back some control, and now-_

‘Look at you,’ Augus practically purred, his voice still strained from his orgasm, from what he’d just experienced. He moved his hands from Gwyn’s torso and dragged them down to Gwyn’s pants, where he worked at the fastening with a quick, practiced ease. ‘Look at how much you liked it, and you didn’t break the blood oath either; _miracle,_ if you ask me.’

Augus clenched his hand around Gwyn’s cock and pulled him out roughly, and Gwyn’s eyes closed, he bit his bottom lip. He was going to come. He was going to come _soon._ He hadn’t realised how close he was.

‘Clean your hand,’ Augus ordered, and Gwyn’s breath caught up in his lungs. ‘Go on, clean your hand with your tongue, like you were before. I want to see you lick my come off your hand. And I’d like to see it now.’

‘Augus,’ Gwyn said, a thread of warning in his voice.

_I was supposed to remind him of his place._

Augus laughed at him, and then dragged the edge of a claw up the side of Gwyn’s cock.

‘Consider this: Instead of succumbing to the slow grinding of those cogs in your head, just listen to me. You were doing _such_ a good job of listening only minutes ago. You’ll like it. I’ll like it. I fail to see anything wrong with that. You keep fighting me in this, as though you haven’t realised just how enjoyable it is for both of us when you surrender something that you _want_ to surrender to me.’

Gwyn swallowed at Augus’ words. And when Augus’ hand shifted on his cock, he raised the heel of his palm to his lips and – with averted eyes – licked the taste of Augus’ come into his mouth. Augus made a small, amused sound, and then the tip of his index finger came up and wiped at the corner of Gwyn’s lips.

‘You missed some,’ Augus said, and Gwyn scowled at him. ‘No, I mean it, you missed some.’

‘I think I’ve had en-’

Gwyn’s words were choked off by Augus beginning to move his other hand firmly and with confidence up and down Gwyn’s cock, a rhythm that was made all the more disarming by the occasional promise of claws against his skin. Augus didn’t hurt him, but just knowing they were there made all of his nerves sing with alertness. His mouth dropped open as he drew in a breath, and Augus slipped the tip of his index finger inside.

‘See?’ Augus said, as he painted his fingertip over Gwyn’s tongue. ‘Keep licking, there’s some on the edge of your hand that you’ve missed.’

Gwyn licked the rest of his hand, and resisted the urge to bite his own palm as Augus became more clever with his fingers, twisting on the upstroke, squeezing harder at the base of him. He dropped his arm, pressed back into the chair when Augus leaned forwards. Augus used the hand that had been at his mouth to grip at his jaw.

‘You are so green sometimes, Gwyn, I swear you are ripe for the taking. With all of your experience coming in the asses of your soldiers after battle, I bet you-’

‘And you?’ Gwyn interrupted, voice rough. He was too close to coming for this conversation. ‘And you? With all your experience in sounding, there are still things _you_ are green at, Augus. You can look at me and say what you like, but you should remember that-’

Gwyn gasped again, his voice choked as Augus drove him towards orgasm with a merciless speed that made sparks leap beneath his skin. He cried out, hoarse, and then dragged his mind back to what he was saying. It had been important.

‘You should remember when you look at me, I was the first one who did that to you, the first one that made you realise you _loved_ it.’

Augus snarled at him, fingers dug into the line of his jaw, but his hand never stopped moving against him and Gwyn’s spine stiffened and his body tensed until his feet felt like they were going to cramp.

_‘Come,’_ Augus growled, and Gwyn did, the first spasm causing him to rock the chair backwards, so that Augus had to pull him back before he fell. Augus hooked two fingers into Gwyn’s mouth, pulling his jaw down so that the sounds he wanted to hold back spilled, open and raw, out of his mouth. He ducked his head, rested teeth against the top of Augus’ fingers, but couldn’t hold his cries in. Augus rode out his orgasm without mercy, keeping his hand moving against him even as Gwyn reached towards him with shaking hands to slow his wrist, and try to get him to stop. He made a sound of protest. He was oversensitive, he needed a moment.

Augus slowed the movement of his hand, and then stopped, letting go and making a show of wiping the come that was dripping from his fingers onto Gwyn’s pants. Gwyn groaned, drew his head back so that Augus’ fingers slipped from his mouth, a string of saliva connecting them for a second before it snapped.

Augus, surprisingly, didn’t talk as Gwyn collected his breath to himself. Gwyn closed his eyes and swallowed, still feeling his light jump and flare beneath the surface of his skin, tasting Augus in his mouth, feeling well-used even though he’d not been touched for very long.

‘Are you alright?’ Gwyn said to Augus, knowing that Augus was the one who had felt sore, who had been pushed to his limits.

‘Yes,’ Augus said, with a seriousness that made Gwyn open his eyes. Augus was watching him, hands folded in his lap, not even attempting to hide his limp cock where it rested.

It occurred to Gwyn that they’d both exchanged blood oaths, they’d both done things to each other that they’d never experienced at anyone else’s hands. Whatever this was, what Augus had termed an ‘arrangement,’ it bewildered him still. It had felt intimate, sounding Augus. It had felt like it had meant something, or come close to meaning something. It was confusing, knowing that Augus was...who he was. He didn’t form attachments with people. He wouldn’t form an attachment to Gwyn. 

Gwyn wondered if he had the same sober expression on his face that Augus did. He felt like he needed some time to get his thoughts in order.

‘You didn’t break your oath,’ Augus said, and Gwyn’s jaw clenched hard. A flash of anger moved through him, and Augus’ eyes widened to see it. ‘I only meant that-’

‘I _know_ what you meant,’ Gwyn said, standing.

He pulled his pants up and walked over to the desk, picked up the sound he’d used, still warmed by Augus’ body heat. He swallowed as he dropped it into the box, clipping it closed.

‘I thought you did well,’ Augus said, and Gwyn turned to him, smiled tightly.

‘You thought I couldn’t do it,’ Gwyn said, chest aching. ‘What were you hoping, Augus? That I’d mess up? That a broken blood-oath would kill me? They do after all usually kill people when broken, don’t they? And you might not appreciate – how did you put it? I remember. You might not appreciate _pissing blood_ for weeks, but at least the King of the Seelie fae would be dead, and-’

Augus stood abruptly, eyes wide, hands up.

‘I _only_ meant that I thought you did well,’ Augus said, voice cautious. ‘If you travel any further along this spiral, I’ll be running through a forest with an arrow pointed at my back.’

Gwyn felt like he’d been punched in the gut.

‘You’re upset,’ Augus said, and Gwyn felt light prickling at him, tugging at him. It tried to drive him into a different location. He resisted it, but he knew he’d be leaving soon. ‘You tried to remind me that you’re in control, and it didn’t work, did it? You are a _fool_. Demote me. Put me back in the cell. Perhaps you might _leave_ the Seelie Court and then come back again ten seconds later.’

Gwyn could hear his heart beating. Augus could remind Gwyn of his power all he wanted, it only served to also highlight the lack. Augus might think that Gwyn could demote him easily, but Gwyn knew if that was the case, he would have already done it. The same went for putting him back in the cell. And he could leave the Seelie Court, but he _always_ had to come back.

The worst part was knowing that when Augus had taken control before, after the liver incident – when he had wrung sensation from Gwyn until he had begged Augus to stop – Gwyn had experienced a period of time where his mind had blessedly stopped its incessant workings. There was a period of at least two days after Augus had made Gwyn oath to accept aftercare, that he’d felt...more stable than he had in _years._

And even this, enjoyable as the sounding was, something he ached to do again already, it wasn’t the same. He had more problems than Augus in his life right now. His Kingdom was a mess, and taking out the large villains had only revealed the insidious ones beneath, feeding at the peace of the Seelie Kingdom like maggots clinging to the underside a corpse. He needed what Augus had to offer, and he hated that Augus was right about that.

Augus pulled up his pants, watched Gwyn carefully, and Gwyn realised that Augus was likely worried about Gwyn’s mental stability. About the likelihood that he would be demoted, or fed liver, or hunted, or any one of a number of things.

Gwyn didn’t feel that any of those were likely. He wasn’t stable, but he didn’t feel so unstable that Augus’ life was in danger either.

‘I should let you get back to your book,’ Gwyn said, and Augus turned to it quickly, and then his mouth thinned. Something troubled passed over his features and he sighed. ‘There are other books in the library, if it’s not to your taste.’

‘I hadn’t noticed,’ Augus drawled, his expression drifting away to something detached and amused. ‘And you have a Kingdom to run, as you’re so fond of saying.’

Gwyn nodded.

‘I do.’

Gwyn found, as he teleported away, that despite having desperately protected his privacy for thousands of years; despite having never lived with anyone since his parents, he found it easy to share his living space with Augus. He couldn’t help but be aware of his presence in the network of rooms. No one else had ever _lived_ there before. Only the trows in their quarters. Anyone else had only ever been a short-term, temporary visitor.

But Augus occupied the space, lived in it, made use of it. He ordered items, found books to read, repurposed rooms for his own uses. Gwyn didn’t even have the energy to be angry at himself about it. He could castigate himself later. He _did_ have a Kingdom to run, and he liked the distraction that work provided. Whatever he had that looked like a personal life was a shambles, and he would address that later or – knowing his track record – not at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, 'Rollercoaster:'
> 
> ‘Gwyn,’ Augus said softly, reaching up and smearing tears between his fingers. And because his cock was an asshole, and uninterested in anything except its own pleasure, he remained unstintingly hard. Crying turned him on. It always had. ‘Gwyn, we’ve stopped. I’m not doing it anymore. I know you’re an idiot, but surely you’ve noticed that we’ve stopped.’


	16. Rollercoaster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No new tags.
> 
> WARNING: This chapter returns to non-con, which - after the past few chapters - may be a bit more difficult compared to the straight up hateporn in the beginning. This is a 'three steps forward, two steps back' situation, and I wanted to let people know so they could brace / look after themselves.
> 
> *
> 
> Thank you for all of your responses to the last chapter - those I got in Tumblr message (anon or otherwise), those I got here, seriously, it meant so much and you folks are just the grandest. :D
> 
> *
> 
> And so we return to Augus' perspective!

Gwyn didn’t look to be in the right sort of mood for Augus to take control, but that was exactly when Augus liked to. He’d had an idea in mind – since the beginning really – but certainly over the last couple of weeks. It had happened when Gwyn left him access into his inner rooms and he’d gone snooping through everything, mentally cataloguing what he could use to escape (not much), what he could use to aggravate Gwyn (a great deal), and what he could use for purposes of personal enjoyment (also a great deal).

He’d found the wooden box of sounds buried underneath about six inches of paperwork.

He didn’t understand the paperwork side of things. He didn’t remember having to do much at all, when he’d been King. But then, he surmised, that was perhaps why he was in his current situation, and Gwyn was still gainfully employed by his Court. But, then again, he wasn’t quite so inept in all things. He had thought it might take years before he could claw back any semblance of power, and now, in less than a year, his status was Capital, and the King of the Seelie Court was letting him push at his limits. And that...tasted very good indeed.

He’d hidden the box of sounds under Gwyn’s bed. He bided his time. Older fae always talked about the rise and the fall of power, that it was a natural cycle the older one became. It was likely arrogant to think so, but his fall hadn’t lasted nearly as long has he thought it would.

When Gwyn had come back from his meeting with the rest of his Court, he’d been aggravated and stressed. He tasted like sparks of electricity in the air, burnt gases. And Augus had opened his mouth to that before Gwyn had entered his room, it was metallic and appealing. He had an aversion to iron, like most fae, but it was the only thing he could compare Gwyn’s aura to. And he didn’t have an aversion to Gwyn. Not anymore, anyway. Mostly.

Getting the drop on Gwyn was easy. Gwyn was bigger and stronger, trained with military precision. But Augus knew more about the art of ambush and a body’s pressure points than anybody reasonably should – he was, after all, trained by Fluri the mouse-maiden, who had been an expert in pressure point combat – and he made a struggling Gwyn go limp against the pain of a fingernail digging hard into a pressure point under his ear, and another underneath his collarbone. Gwyn hissed angrily and Augus applied more pressure, smirking when he sensed his attitude shift.

‘Do you have anywhere you need to be, for the next few hours?’ Augus purred, and then twisted his fingernail hard into the pressure point at Gwyn’s collarbone. Gwyn jerked from the pain, pale blue eyes widening. ‘I don’t particularly care _either_ way,’ Augus said. ‘If you’ve got any engagements later, you’re going to miss them.’

‘Get off me,’ Gwyn rasped, body twisting to try and ease the paralysing pressure. ‘I didn’t agree to this.’

Augus had sentences of reply waiting, he always did, there were always things he wanted to _say._ But instead he bit at the side of Gwyn’s face, following the movement as Gwyn tried to shift away. He tasted more of that burnt, crackling energy under the surface. And Gwyn exhaled hard when he felt Augus’ teeth scrape against his skin, his body yielded minutely, even though his mind was still playing catch up.

‘I’m tying you up today,’ Augus said, and Gwyn flinched. Augus moved his finger away from Gwyn’s collarbone and Gwyn didn’t move. It was easy then, to smile in satisfaction. Resistance would likely be token from here on in.

Gwyn’s expression remained mutinous as Augus stood and told him to take his clothes off, and he stayed locked in the same surly expression as he did as asked, stripping with a quiet efficiency. Gwyn was ashamed of many things, but it turned out his body wasn’t one of them.

_Not that he has anything to be ashamed about there._

And when Augus told him to lie down on the bed, on his back, Gwyn shook his head as though he was engaging in a huge waste of time. Augus indulged these petty rebellions, because it dragged out the moment nicely, and because Gwyn was still lying down on the bed as asked. Gwyn would submit properly soon enough, and they both knew it. Why put in effort when it would come naturally with time? It wasn’t that Augus was lazy, so much as he preferred the path of least resistance. Gwyn made things so difficult most of the time, that when Augus finally had a margin of control back, he wanted it to be easy. Easy for him, anyway.

_Because I have my priorities in order._

Augus tied Gwyn quietly. He could taunt if he wanted to, but again, he didn’t see the point. Best to save the most aggravating statements for when Gwyn was fully secure. It amused him how unhelpful Gwyn was. He didn’t raise his limbs to the ties like many others who were submissive would, making Augus lift each wrist and ankle. He glowered the entire time, even though in all other ways he was unresisting.

Sometimes annoying Gwyn was the best part of his entire day.

When Augus tied Gwyn’s last remaining limb, his wrist, Gwyn tensed slightly. He shifted against the ties, testing them in a way that appeared subtle to no one else but Gwyn. Augus turned away to hide his smile, and stripped off his clothing. Since being able to order fabrics and clothing through the trows, he was back to wearing the fashion he preferred – the water-wicking fabric of the waterfae, that never became damp no matter how wet his hair was. He was back to button-up shirts and pants fashioned after the modern cuts of what Ash wore, except in fae fabrics. It was the little things that Gwyn had unknowingly granted him that helped his stability, his sense that he was doing just fine. Captivity was a bump in the road, but he had lived a long time, and he knew that nothing lasted forever.

Augus turned back to watch Gwyn actually straining at the ties.

He looked Gwyn up and down, a measuring, confident look that Gwyn caught and then scowled at. Augus fingered the gag he’d pulled out of his pocket, resting it on the bed. He’d become more familiar with experiencing gags personally, thanks to Gwyn, and had decided this was one favour he definitely wanted to return. Gwyn shouldn’t have done anything to him that he didn’t want to receive in return, because Augus had memorised everything – couldn’t not, really – and he could always trump Gwyn’s casual, reckless cruelty with his own, deliberate, sadistic malice.

Augus bent easily and slid the box of sounds out from under the bed, screening them with his body so that Gwyn couldn’t tell what he had. Wouldn’t guess, either. Didn’t have a mind that worked fast enough, likely hadn’t guessed that Augus would ferret out everything about him. Trusted too easily, for someone who had been a competent King for so long.

Augus straddled Gwyn’s hips so that he was facing his feet, amazed that he had managed to stay silent for so long. Perhaps the bondage had him on edge.

_And so it should, Gwyn. Honestly, trusting your captive like this, aren’t you intriguing?_

He placed the wooden box by Gwyn’s torso and waited for Gwyn to see it, realise what it was, and then-

‘No,’ Gwyn said sharply, ‘Something else.’

Augus smiled wider, tucked hair behind his ear to get it out of the way. He twisted slightly and looked over his shoulder.

‘Worried about injury? Even you could manage it well enough, under my guidance. And I’m far, far gentler than you are.’

Gwyn strained against the ties, arms bulging. He used the force to raise his head and neck up, shaking his head.

‘I am not interested in this.’

He sounded almost convincing, but then, didn’t he always? Gwyn and earnestness went hand in hand. Augus turned back and splayed both of his palms on Gwyn’s thighs, scraping fingernails upwards, painting lines of sensation. He repeated the gesture again, and again, and Gwyn sagged back down again, whole body shifting as his shoulders stopped straining against the ties. _There, token resistance._

‘I didn’t think I was interested either,’ Augus said, stroking a finger down the box. ‘But I changed my mind. I want to return the favour. You’ll like it. And you forget, I have done this far more times than you, and to far more fae.’

‘Augus,’ Gwyn said quietly, ‘I’m serious. Anything else. Not this.’

Augus rolled his eyes, imagined the frown directed at his back, and carefully unhooked the latch of the box. It was a quiet, audible snick, and Gwyn was straining at his bonds again, tugging them repeatedly.

‘ _Augus,’_ Gwyn said, and Augus responded by lifting out the vial of lubricant and one of the long, metal sounds. ‘Augus, I can’t do this today.’

‘Just today? Why today? Do tell,’ Augus said, clipping the box closed and shifting it down the bed, where Gwyn couldn’t knock it off easily.

‘ _Any_ day, Augus.’

Gwyn had said his name four times already, trying to command his attention, to work his will.

‘Do you not understand how being tied up works?’ Augus said smoothly, turning around and raising his eyebrows at Gwyn’s look of concern. The expression on Gwyn’s face shifted from worry to an angular rebellion.

‘Augus Each Uisge, I formally revoke your status of-’

Augus shifted with speed, slamming his palm against Gwyn’s mouth and grabbing the gag with his other hand, using deft experience to shift his hand away and wrap the gag in place without Gwyn being able to finish his sentence. Gwyn’s eyes widened, he stared at Augus like he couldn’t believe this was happening, which, more the fool Gwyn, really. Augus couldn’t decide if he was disappointed that Gwyn seemed so quick to keep extending measures of trust, or if he personally enjoyed reminding Gwyn that perhaps he shouldn’t be so free to extend it. Both, perhaps.

Augus laughed softly, masking his own anger at how easily and casually Gwyn had started to revoke his status as Capital fae. That expression on Gwyn’s face was perfect. Surprised, _betrayed._

‘You never listened to _me_ , Gwyn. All of those times I asked you to stop, to do something different, to _wait_. When you think about it, this is positively tame by comparison. I won’t hurt you, really. I just want you to _feel_ uncomfortable, but this causes no lasting damage, unlike you forcing liver down my throat. Or your cock, for that matter. I suppose _that_ didn’t cause lasting damage, but what can I say? I have a long, vengeful memory.’

Augus turned around again, presenting his back to Gwyn’s face, picking up the lubricant and the sound. He lubricated the sound quickly and easily, listening with some satisfaction to the sounds of dissent that Gwyn was trying – ineffectively – to push through his gag. He tugged so hard at the ties at one point, that his entire body bunched, and Augus just shook his head.

‘Please don’t insult me, I know how to tie someone up.’

A pleading sound in response to that, followed by a heavily muffled sound of frustration.

Gwyn went still when Augus started applying extra lube to the tip of his Gwyn’s cock. He was limp in his hand, but he expected that, and it made things easier anyway. Best that Gwyn didn’t slip into his oversexed, rutting frame of mind during this. He’d end up hurting himself.

He could have dragged it out, but aside from quickly circling the cold metal around the head of Gwyn, he didn’t see the point. Better to get to the part where discomfort shifted to that uncertain undoing, that detonation of pleasure.

Gwyn made a shocked sound of protest when Augus tilted the cold metal of the sound down into his slit, but he didn’t move. When Augus pushed, lightly, watching a centimetre of metal disappear, Gwyn started shaking. He began to strain at his ties again, and Augus ignored him, concentrating on what he was doing. He had expected more muffled protests at this point, but Gwyn had already been quieter than usual when he’d come in, so perhaps he didn’t have as many words available to him as usual. Maybe he’d poured them all out during the meeting, and needed to recharge his inner dictionary.

Augus stopped pushing when he met resistance, and held everything still with one hand for at least a solid minute, using his other to smooth along Gwyn’s thigh, tracing tense musculature, curling his fingers along his hip.

‘It takes time, Gwyn,’ Augus offered, far more than Gwyn had ever offered him. ‘The discomfort eases. We both know I’m not actually hurting you, so the sooner you relax, the better.’

Augus moved the sound up and down, slight shifts, and Gwyn was still pulling on the ties, kicking up more of a fuss than Augus expected.

‘Pressure again,’ Augus warned, surprised at himself for saying as much. He pushed down gently, watching carefully as more of the sound disappeared. Gwyn, behind him, proved that his own bed was as finely crafted as it looked, resisting the solid, sudden bursts of force as Gwyn tugged hard. _Probably designed it with his battering ram style of what he calls fucking in mind. Idiot._

There was always a point where gravity and the weight of the sound worked in such a way that pushing was no longer necessary, and Augus felt that moment and smiled to himself, because that normally meant pleasure soon, it would blur the lines between what was uncomfortable, what felt good. He waited until the sound seated itself naturally, and then twisted it in place, attuned to Gwyn’s shaking as it increased in strength.

He caught the sounds of hitched breathing, increasing with regularity, and flicked the sound with the tip of his fingernail, sending vibrations moving down it.

‘Are you crying, Gwyn?’ Augus said softly, not turning around. ‘Already? That’s quick, even for you.’  

Augus moved the sound more. Up and down, only a little, no more than a centimetre was enough. He twisted it. He tapped the tip with his fingernail, sending rhythmic vibrations down it. And then he realised that the sound was moving quite easily, and it was past time for the next size up.

He withdrew the sound slowly but evenly, curious that Gwyn wasn’t erect yet. After all, it was _Gwyn._

He put the sound down, twisted around ready to say something along the lines of how the next size up might help, another twenty taunts waiting on the tip of his tongue, and then paused.

Gwyn was staring up blankly at the ceiling, eyes bloodshot and _crying_ and rhythmically shaking with sobs that he – for whatever reason – refused to voice. But it was that blank, upward blue stare that was the most disturbing. Gwyn had checked out at some point, and didn’t look like he was interested in coming back. He didn’t seem to have noticed that Augus had stopped, and he certainly didn’t seem to have noticed that he was being looked at. That was someone who was practicing 'anywhere but here.’

A cold chill of self-recrimination moved through him, and he clenched his teeth to find himself caught in this situation. That was not the face of someone who was simply ashamed of enjoying himself, not someone who would eventually come around. And if he hadn’t come around now, he wasn’t going to.

Augus turned back quickly, opened the sounding box and pursed his lips when Gwyn flinched beneath him, no doubt imagining the next size up was following. Augus quietly cleaned the sound on the cloth in the box, and then placed the cloth, the sound and the lubricant back in the box, before clipping it closed. He took a deep breath, another, and then shifted so that he could shove the box under the bed again where Gwyn couldn’t see it ( _and would likely burn it later, a shame, those sounds were finely made)._

He then turned properly, so that he was straddling Gwyn and facing him, hands flat on his chest. He watched, he waited. Aside from closing his eyes, Gwyn gave no other acknowledgement.

Augus reached up and untied one of his wrists, biting the inside of his lip as he did so. He expected the gag to be ripped off, the revocation of status perhaps, a quick untying of the rest of his limbs, something like revenge. He didn’t know what Gwyn would do with his free hand, but it wasn’t likely to be good.

As soon as Gwyn’s wrist was freed, he threw his forearm over his face, hiding his eyes from Augus, fingers curling into a fist by the side of his head. He didn’t even remove the gag.

_Not good at all, actually. Augus, you wretch._

That he couldn’t predict Gwyn’s reactions was the most disturbing part. He had pushed fae too far before, especially early on, when he was still learning how much power he wielded over others and discovered that brute force broke a person far slower than measured sophistication did. And he was usually adept at bringing people back; there was no point in doing what he did with others, without knowing what to do when he’d pushed too far. But Gwyn wasn’t responding as he’d expected. He furrowed his brow and rubbed Gwyn’s chest, thinking what to do next.

Augus reached up and untied the gag when it became obvious that Gwyn had either forgotten he was wearing it, or – worse – didn’t see the point in taking it off anymore. It was soaked with saliva, tears, and he dropped it to the side of the bed, wrinkling his face in disgust as he did.

Gwyn’s lips thinned into a frown – surprise, surprise – but other than that, he didn’t shift. The forearm stayed over his eyes, his fingers stayed curled into a fist.

The curl of worry within Augus strengthened, and he briefly rubbed a hand over his face in frustration.

‘So...’ Augus said, on a half-smile. ‘Are you going to revoke my status now, or later?’

Gwyn didn’t respond.

_Obviously later, then._

It wasn’t in his nature to self-recriminate. His general method of dealing with mistakes was to acknowledge them (sometimes), and then to decide he was going to behave differently in the future (sometimes), and then to let go of the guilt and accept that he could do nothing about the past. Usually he bypassed the first two steps and went straight to letting go of the guilt. But this... he was reminded, abruptly, of the last time he’d been overly cutting with his brother. Ash didn’t mind banter, didn’t mind Augus’ sense of humour, but Augus had been in an increasingly vicious mood towards the end of his reign and Ash had been caught in the crossfire one evening. After that, Augus had bent over backwards for several days, trying to make sure that everything was okay between them.

_Clearly not._

‘Gwyn,’ Augus said softly, reaching up and smearing tears between his fingers. And because his cock was an asshole, and uninterested in anything except its own pleasure, he remained unstintingly hard. Crying turned him on. It always had. ‘Gwyn, we’ve stopped. I’m not doing it anymore. I know you’re an idiot, but surely you’ve noticed that we’ve stopped.’

Gwyn took a deep shuddering breath in response to that and _still_ wouldn’t remove his forearm from his eyes. Augus didn’t see the point in demanding it, because it would be a waste of breath. Gwyn was beyond listening.

Augus shifted, bowed his spine and lowered his lips to Gwyn’s chest, watching all the while. He tasted the penny salt of Gwyn’s sweat on his tongue, licked his way downwards, using fingers and palms to smooth at contours of muscle, to trace the lines of nerves. One of the upsides of learning about a person’s pressure points; it alerted one to the possibility of sensitive areas. And long, long ago, he’d had the opportunity to learn many of Gwyn’s.

He kept his eyes on Gwyn the entire time, and then narrowed them when he saw the fist unclench, not fully, not much at all. But a shifting of his fingers that that meant the fist was loosely held. He was going to take that as a good sign, given that Gwyn wasn’t giving him much else. He was in unknown territory. He had mistakenly assumed that Gwyn was always, and would forever be, predictable. He knew more about his history now, knew about many of his hang-ups. He had not expected sounding to be one of them. Not at all.

_What did I miss?_

He shimmied down Gwyn until he was straddling his upper thighs, and wrapped a hand around him, freezing when Gwyn flinched again.

‘Gwyn, did I hurt you?’ Gwyn didn’t respond, and Augus clenched his teeth together. He needed a response to the question. ‘ _Gwyn,_ I don’t mean figuratively, or metaphorically, I mean literally, did I actually hurt you? Does this, my hand around you, does this cause you physical pain?’

A long moment of no communication, so long that Augus had almost given up expecting any sort of response at all. Right at the moment he was about to call it a day, Gwyn shook his head minutely.

He would’ve eaten his own mane at the thought that he’d done any physical damage, not _likely,_ he was better than an accident like that. But knowing that Augus’ hand around him was causing Gwyn discomfort, mental discomfort, was not reassuring. The sounding had done a number on him, and Augus realised he should never have faced away from Gwyn, he would have realised sooner, he could have shut everything down or figured out a new direction. A few months ago he would have wanted this reaction. But things changed, and Augus changed with them.

He stroked the side of Gwyn’s ribs with his free hand, as he started a slow, easy rhythm with his other. Gwyn’s hand by his face relaxed further, though not by much. His breathing deepened. But Augus was stunned at how long it was taking him to get hard. His mind, unhelpfully, kept saying things like; _but it’s_ Gwyn, _for the love of all that is holy, I assumed that even if he was dead his cock still wouldn’t be broken._

Augus abruptly realised that he wasn’t interested in this anymore. He’d untie Gwyn, make a hasty exit, hope that Gwyn discovered his anger at the situation much later and perhaps he’d even stretch himself pre-emptively just in case because he’d dealt with _that_ side of Gwyn before too.

‘I’m going to stop. I don’t know who to be more embarrassed for, at the moment.’

He withdrew his hand and Gwyn shifted, the fingers by his face flexed. Augus waited, breath still somewhere in the bottom of his lungs.

‘Don’t stop,’ Gwyn said, uncharacteristically meek. Augus resisted the urge to slap that tone of voice right out of him, and grasped Gwyn again instead, establishing a firmer rhythm, one that was still much lighter than anything Gwyn would think to use, but was insistent. Gwyn’s forearm was still over his eyes and it frustrated Augus to no end, wondering if he was looking up, if his eyes were closed, if he was still crying.

Gwyn hardened quickly after that, and Augus had an idea, a wonderful idea, except that he didn’t know if Gwyn still kept lubricant under his pillow, just like he kept it in other strategic locations throughout his home. Even Augus didn’t keep as much lubricant on hand, and that was saying something, really. Augus reached up underneath the pillow and bared his teeth when he found it.

_Good to know some things are still predictable._

He slicked Gwyn up easily, and didn’t bother preparing himself because – loathe as he was to admit it – he’d come to appreciate the stretch of Gwyn, and, perhaps, because as much as he thought self-recrimination was a waste of everyone’s time, maybe he would find the guilt easier to let go of if he hurt a little bit, first.

He raised himself up over Gwyn, positioned him with his hand, sunk down slowly. Slower than he’d ever done so in the past with Gwyn. And he tilted his head back at the sensation of it, at the stretch and the heat. He liked slow. He liked it so much that he was constantly aware of having to speed things up for the sake of others. People wanted to be broken, they had a deadline, but Augus had all the patience for slow and steady. And with Gwyn far more passive than usual, he had a rare chance at it now.

Augus made that initial penetration last minutes, lowering himself millimetre by millimetre, canting his hips to get the angle right. He kept an eye on Gwyn through lidded eyes, mostly focused on the hand by his face and how it flexed in response to Augus moving down upon him. But he caught other minute signs, the visible pulse thumping at his neck, the way his lips shifted. His mouth had opened for a second and then closed again. 

Augus couldn’t help the small sound that he made when Gwyn rubbed over his prostate, and he paused, shaking, awash with sensation. If he ever had to direct someone in a lesson on how to break him apart, he’d recommend slowness first. It tuned all of his senses, his concentration leapt up towards it and turned into a bonfire of awareness. Gwyn was – usually – rough and crude and violent. It was those things which had allowed Augus to stay sane and collected. Thank goodness for Gwyn and his crass understanding of what breaking people actually entailed.

Not that he could talk, right now.

Augus rose slowly, lowered himself, and that point of contact where Gwyn brushed over his prostate was so perfect that he moaned softly. His eyes fell closed for some seconds, spine tingling and his arms growing lax.

When he opened his eyes again, Gwyn had rolled his forearm up onto his forehead, and was watching Augus quietly, considering.

‘Fancy seeing you here,’ Augus said, gently, and Gwyn swallowed. His eyes dropped down, back up again, taking in all of Augus. And Augus smirked when he felt Gwyn’s cock twitch inside of him. _Of all the things to bring him back, it would be this. No matter, I can put on a show._

Augus trailed the fingers of his own hand down his chest and ribs, lowering himself at the same time, until Gwyn was fully sheathed inside of him, hard and inescapably present. He curled fingers around his own erection and tugged languidly, exhaling slowly when Gwyn licked his lips, blinked with a curious, relaxed focus.

Augus started rising and falling on his legs, a measured, steady pace that angled well against his prostate and left him hungry and moaning on every downstroke. This was far, far better than he was used to, lately. His eyes fluttered closed, and he became lost in sensations that twined up inside of him, a fire lit green and orange behind his eyes and spilled sparks down the centre of him. That was _very_ nice.

Augus stilled when he felt a large hand curl around his hips, and looked down to see Gwyn’s fingers, splayed and anchoring, right there. He expected everything to change, felt a pang of regret that it would be over so quickly, because once rediscovered, he knew he wouldn’t be allowed this pace again for some time. Possibly ever.

‘Untie my other hand,’ Gwyn ordered, and Augus swallowed. _Here we go, say farewell to a reasonable pace and hello to the juggernaut, just perfect._

Augus leaned forward and made a sound of surprise when Gwyn canted his hips up with the movement, keeping Augus anchored. He felt flooded with heat suddenly, pleased that Gwyn had participated, shocked at his own response. He hesitated for only a couple of seconds, and then quickly untied his other wrist, grimacing when he saw how raw Gwyn had rubbed it. It wasn’t like he’d used shackles or manacles, it was just _fabric._

_Yes, surprise, he really didn’t like you raping him with the sound. That’s clever of you._

Augus leaned back again and took a deep breath when Gwyn’s other hand rested on his other hip, fingers digging in. Augus waited for Gwyn to take the lead, but nothing happened. He opened his eyes and Gwyn was watching him, a strange, curious hunger in his eyes.

‘Go on,’ Gwyn said, and Augus felt something alarming like trepidation move through his body. It was his own fault. He had wanted slow. He had wanted that peak of concentration that left him more sensitive to _everything._ He’d done this to himself. Even those two words from Gwyn left him harder, and he bit the inside of his cheek, because hadn’t this started out with Gwyn being the vulnerable one? And, if he took in the measure of Gwyn’s face, the man still wasn’t okay. Not even close.

_What a fucked up mess you’ve turned this into._

Augus raised himself up off Gwyn slowly, and then lowered himself, and Gwyn didn’t try and speed him up, though his fingers tightened. He didn’t do anything except that, just as Augus began to hit bottom, he dug his fingers in and pushed up firmly, managing to get deeper, and the angle was so good that Augus’ head dropped forwards and he braced one hand on Gwyn’s stomach, huffing out a breath of air. He tried to gather his wits about him, but was distracted by fingers alternating pressure at his sides.

‘Keep going,’ Gwyn said, and Augus nodded, because really, he had no intention of stopping.

Surprisingly, Gwyn kept to Augus’ pace. He only added small, but appreciated additions. The extra push at the end, fingers that would dig in and then stroke reassuringly and then dig in _hard,_ leaving Augus certain he’d have multiple bruises on both sides of his hips for days to come. And every time Gwyn kept to the slow pace but pushed, invasive, inside of him, demanding more space, more room, it stole every one of Augus’ unfurling breaths, until he was shuddering and close and a collection of sparks.

It wasn’t a side of himself many got to see, and it wasn’t a side of himself he wanted many to see. Indeed, still wasn’t sure he wanted Gwyn to see it, but after all he’d done, after shoving Gwyn so far off the brink of the abyss he wasn’t sure exactly how to get him back again, he felt like he owed him something of himself. It wasn’t like Gwyn would ever be deft enough to use it himself, the power of slow. Of patience.

He kept his eyes on Gwyn’s as the sensations started to overtake him. As – hyper sensitised – he became nothing more than a lightning rod of sensory feedback. Gwyn had been occasionally looking down to where their bodies met, but as time passed, he looked only at Augus’ face, watching his expressions, shivering or twitching or clenching his hands when Augus betrayed himself by crying out regularly, close and yet far away, full and not nearly as in control as Gwyn probably thought he was.

He knew from previous experience that if he added enough sparks to the mess inside of him, he would just spill over, usually with no warning, and this time proved no different. A flash of tension raced through him and that was all the notice he got before he started to come, striping Gwyn’s chest with liquid heat and his mind collapsing into a dense blackness, like that found at the bottom of the deepest lakes. He gasped his way through, grounded by Gwyn still hard inside of him, hands at his hips, and he had the briefest of moments where he was suddenly stuck by how still and stable Gwyn was being for him, how oddly alert and... _not angry,_ before he bowed his head fully and was lost.

The first thing he became aware of when he started to concentrate again, was – of all things – Gwyn still hard inside of him. He shifted uncertainly, because _this_ was definitely not something he associated with Gwyn. Not at all. He looked up, frowning.

‘Should I take care of this for you?’ Augus purred deliberately, to mask what he was actually feeling.

‘No,’ Gwyn said, ‘thank you.’

_No, thank you._

Gwyn’s forehead was furrowed, not with confusion at his own request to not come (which Augus would definitely have understood), but with something approaching apprehension. Augus rose up on his knees and turned easily, untying each of Gwyn’s ankles. When that was done, he crawled back up the bed, bracing his arms either side of Gwyn’s shoulders, looking down at him.

‘Get angry, Gwyn. I find this side of you incredibly dull.’

Gwyn looked away and said nothing, and Augus just wanted to lie down and _rest_ damn it, that was the best orgasm he’d had in months. Maybe _years._ All he wanted was to curl up underwater, or even Gwyn’s bed, he’d take that, and just rest. And instead, no, he found himself awkwardly wondering how to even begin offering Gwyn aftercare when Gwyn was so damaged, so broken.

His mind, unbidden, flashed upon what he’d learned about Gwyn and Efnisien. There was a great deal of broken in Gwyn. In someone who assumed that torture was fine, as long as he’d heal from it. And it would have been _torture._ He knew Efnisien, and he knew what one could do to a Court status fae that wouldn’t leave scars. Everything was fair game – broken bones, even being cut and stabbed. Almost anything that was basically mechanical torture and not magical torture wouldn’t have left a scar.

And the rest of the fae talked about Gwyn’s reputation of withstanding torture on the battlefield and suddenly something had clicked into place in Augus’ mind, and he hadn’t _wanted_ to feel that way about Gwyn, but he couldn’t help himself. It wasn’t right. Family was supposed to be _family._ Ash had taught him that.

Instead, here he was, dealing with the aftermath of a Gwyn he had broken himself. Seeing him retreat into this passive mindset was disturbing.

‘I tied you up, gagged you when you tried to ‘safeword’ out of it, and then forced a metal rod into your cock and mocked you while you cried. And although all of that sounds like a perfectly reasonable night of fun to me, can we take a moment to enjoy how spectacularly you fell apart? Why aren’t you angry?’ Augus poked him in the neck, for good measure.

Gwyn swallowed, and drew his legs up, and said nothing.

_Damn it. I don’t care about you, I just want to rest, and as soon as I solve the puzzle of what went wrong, that’s what I will do. Rest._

Augus reached up and tugged at one of Gwyn’s curls, drawing it forward and watching it spring back into place again. He pushed fingers into his hair, licked the side of Gwyn’s face. Gwyn didn’t flinch away, didn’t lean into it. When Augus leaned back to survey the results, Gwyn’s eyes were closed.

Augus sighed and leaned his head on the pillow, kept moving a hand in Gwyn’s hair. This was beyond frustrating. The ache of awareness and discomfort inside of his chest especially so.

‘I’m not angry,’ Gwyn managed, finally. He didn’t open his eyes as Augus pushed himself up on one arm to look at him.

‘Why?’

‘You...didn’t know I’d react like that and you couldn’t see me, and so, it’s fine, Augus. You stopped eventually. I’m not angry.’

Augus’ mouth dropped open, because _this_ was worse, somehow, than being temporarily demoted on a whim, or beaten, or fucked until he bled, or gagged for a month, or any one of a number of things. A cool sickness chased the remaining sparks out of his body and he resisted the urge to shake Gwyn until he snapped out of it, because firstly he could practice restraint when he had to and secondly, shaking people rarely solved his problems. Not unless he was shaking people he was about to eat, and that was a different story altogether.

‘I’m sorry, let me see if I have this straight. _You’re_ telling _me_ that the reason everything is fine, and that you’re not angry, is because I couldn’t see you, as though...somehow...that was not a choice I made and inflicted on you? I know logic has never been a strong point of yours anywhere but on a battlefield, but-’

‘ _Stop it,’_ Gwyn said, face creasing. ‘Stop, I’m not _angry._ I was...well I’m sure you’ll laugh to hear it, I was just _hurt._ I know full well how pathetic it must seem to you, and I’m sure you can attempt to imagine how pathetic it must seem to _me._ I don’t want to talk about it. I would just rather forget that this afternoon ever happened, thank you.’

An unpleasant memory had thrust itself up in Augus’ head at Gwyn’s words. He remembered, suddenly, the way he’d felt when Ash had sent the living shadows over to possess him, to force him to declare his own surrender in front of Gwyn, no less. And he remembered– of all things – not feeling angry, as he had every right to. But instead only the shocked, cold fear of betrayal. The _hurt_ of it. And not once, since then, had it ever occurred to him to feel like he needed to be angry at Ash, that he needed revenge. Not once did he begrudge his brother the throne, even though out of the two of them, only one had ever wanted it.

_Hurt, not angry. Betrayed, not vengeful. What more proof do you need that he likes you?_

A small part of Augus crowed victoriously in his chest. He could _use_ this against Gwyn, this discovery of just how deeply Gwyn felt for him. And he _would,_ one day, use it against him, he was sure. That was his way, and it was ridiculous to assume otherwise.

But a larger part of him remembered how he’d felt when Ash had betrayed him like that, and though he knew the situations weren’t the same, couldn’t ever be the same, he knew the kind of feelings that needed to be there to bypass anger entirely and drift into whatever mess Gwyn was still recovering from. His chest ached dully.

‘No more sounding,’ Augus said quietly. ‘Ever.’

Gwyn swallowed audibly, he nodded once.

‘Anything else?’ Augus said, and Gwyn opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling.

‘Eye contact,’ Gwyn said, voice rough. ‘I need...that.’

Augus closed his eyes and despaired at Gwyn’s awkwardness, at how it plucked at something inside of him, something that made him want to forego rest and stay until Gwyn relaxed or got angry or decided to do paperwork or _something._

‘Anything else?’ Augus prompted again, and Gwyn shook his head. ‘I’m going to stay here, if you don’t mind. You can imagine that me making egregious errors regarding judgement in these matters, doesn’t actually happen to me that often, and I’d like to lie here and absorb the fact of my own mistake about as melodramatically as you insist on lying here and staring up at the ceiling.’

Gwyn’s lips quirked up in something approximating a smile. Not quite, but almost. Augus moved his arm over Gwyn’s chest and curled his fingers over his shoulder, protectively.

‘I might want to come later,’ Gwyn murmured, and Augus laughed into an expanse of skin that smelled and tasted like iron and the remnants of lightning strikes.

‘Well, last I checked, I am _your_ prisoner, so I suppose...you shall do with me what you will.’

He expected Gwyn to nod, to laugh, to appreciate being reminded of his position of power after being brought so low. And when no signs of any of that happened, he stroked Gwyn’s forearm and hoped that he wasn’t thinking what Augus had wanted him to start thinking some time ago; that the lines between prisoner and captor were blurred these days, and that Gwyn was far more captive than he was willing to admit.

‘It wasn’t all bad,’ Gwyn said finally. ‘I want to try the slower pace thing that you did. You enjoyed it so much, Augus.’

Augus raised his eyebrows, disturbed. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to show that side of himself to Gwyn again, it wasn’t even something he really showed to his clients.

But then...

_He’s not a client, is he?_

The part of himself that wanted to use Gwyn’s feelings for Augus against him one day quietened. It had no choice. After all, it was difficult to feel victorious when he realised he was in a similar situation.

Augus sighed and closed his eyes, tracing a small circle into Gwyn’s shoulder.

‘And you like it when I enjoy myself, do you?’ Augus said, pushing his voice into idleness, as though he didn’t care.

He felt Gwyn’s hesitation, as though he’d only just realised how much he’d revealed. He truly had no idea how much he’d revealed already. Augus exhaled slowly, for he had wanted the power to ruin Gwyn for a long time, and now that he had it, he became aware of the situation he was in.

Once, he’d destroyed a King and lived to regret it as he regretted very little in his life. He wouldn’t rush into such destruction again, he’d learned his lesson the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, 'Suffocation:'
> 
> ‘I think you need something you didn’t get last time I had you,’ Augus said quietly, the words hypnotic and almost soothing. ‘I think you need something that you don’t understand, and don’t know how to ask for. And I think you’re afraid now, that I just might give it to you.’


	17. Suffocation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEW TAGS: Breathplay, Choking
> 
> *
> 
> Alright folks, updating from here on in may change a little, and will vary between every 4-6 days I expect (currently it's mostly been every 3). 
> 
> Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who's commenting, sending asks on Tumblr (I will get back to you soon I'm behind right now!) and liking things and reading and enjoying yourselves. I love you guys I want to throw you all a party.

A week passed where Gwyn and Augus orbited each other. Gwyn still felt reserved after what had happened between them last time. Augus seemed to know that Gwyn both couldn’t talk about it, and couldn’t really think about it, so their conversations were limited to small matters, political matters, or simply noticing each other in the inner circles of Gwyn’s palatial rooms and nodding acknowledgements before moving in their own separate directions.

Gwyn still wasn’t entirely sure why the sounding had bothered him quite so much. He’d had no problems with it when administering it to Augus, who in turn had clearly enjoyed it at the time. That was a memory that he replayed and appreciated for how profound it was. How surprisingly intimate. And the sounding for Gwyn had been uncomfortable, even mildly painful, but not anywhere near the reams of torture that he had withstood over the years. And he’d never really cared about torture, because he healed, because pain was pain, and after a while the texture of it was the same.

Yet the sounding had been different. He didn’t even know he’d have problems with it until Augus presented him with the sounds themselves and smirked at him. He didn’t know it would be worse than he thought it would be, then worse again. Augus hadn’t been facing him, hadn’t _listened,_ hadn’t-

But his mind wouldn’t let him think on it too much. Instead it reminded him of the aftermath; Augus’ voice when he’d asserted that the sounding wouldn’t be part of the game anymore. Ever. Gwyn had felt shaken by the sincerity of that statement. It was something he’d said once, himself. It was a time out that he’d never expected to offer, and certainly never expected to receive. Because why would they do that for each other? If they weren’t in the game of this strange give and take that they had, then what were they doing together? He doubted Augus’ honesty, but he didn’t want to, and that bothered him.

It was Augus, and Augus was dangerous. Not only because he was powerful. Not only because he surely, _surely_ nursed thoughts and schemes of revenge that Gwyn could only imagine. Not only because he was clever and able to see through most of Gwyn’s defences. But because it was getting harder to resist him. There was a part of him that wanted to sink down into the submission that he inspired. He was still chagrined that he hadn’t enjoyed what Augus had done to him, simply because Augus _wanted_ him to. He didn’t want to know that he felt ashamed for not pleasing him, hadn’t been able to convey that strange, concerted rush when he saw Augus taking pleasure from Gwyn’s body, the way Augus had ridden him slowly, how his breath had stuttered out of his lungs when Gwyn had – concentrating fiercely – attempted to help him.

Augus had asserted that Gwyn needed what he could give him, but the more Augus gave...

It was dangerous, because one day Augus would turn around and use it against him. Because if Gwyn were captive, if Gwyn had Augus’ history, he would do the same thing. He would find out what made Augus vulnerable, and he would turn it back on him one day. Because Gwyn was caging a fae who, once upon a time, was known not for being harmful and disturbed, but was loved for his beauty and his wit. Gwyn’s father had been witty. His mother was beautiful, at least on the outside. They were people who possessed enough natural charm when out in public, or during diplomatic events, that they were respected and their presence was often requested at gatherings.

Gwyn was neither of those things. It never used to bother him, being the one in the family who simply worked and was a soldier. He’d taken a simple, humble pride in his skills, which were hard won and that he had to persist in maintaining even now. It didn’t matter that his fellows weren’t attracted to him unless they were high on bloodlust, or drunk, and it hadn’t mattered that he couldn’t converse smoothly unless he was pointing at a map and talking about where to strike next. But he’d known that outside of being a soldier, he wasn’t fit for anything else, except – it turned out – Kingship. He wasn’t invited to garden parties, and he wasn’t requested for diplomatic events on a regular basis; Albion and Ondine did a far better job of dealing with those things.

Augus was meant for another crowd of people. The only reason he and Gwyn were spending any concerted length of time together at all was because of his captivity. And if he were Augus, if he were someone like Augus, and if he was being held captive by someone like _Gwyn_...

Gwyn knew he should watch his back, should disengage, but it was too late. And that last time Augus had asked him, _Why aren’t you angry?_ And Gwyn had wanted to disappear, to melt away into light and leave the palace entirely, because it hadn’t occurred to him to be angry. Not after the initial frustration melted into fear and violation and nausea. It hadn’t occurred to him to be anything other than hurt. As though Augus had owed him something different.  

Augus’ captivity was becoming harder to bear.

Gwyn had even daydreamed what it might be like to release him. After all, Augus had to be contained for his own safety, for the safety of those around him – but if Augus were truly sane again, if he were stable and similar to what he once was...then why was he contained? Was it only to make everyone else happy? To offer them vindication? But no, they wanted vindication in the form of his _death,_ and captivity wasn’t enough of a compromise for them. And if Augus was truly sane...

No one would understand if he released Augus. Likely even Augus wouldn’t understand it, because Gwyn was still puzzling it out himself. He didn’t think about that too much either, because it _wasn’t_ possible; it was only that he was growing tired of being a captor, growing tired of his Court constantly asking about it. But if he released Augus...then what? It was an arrow of pain in his heart. In his mind, he imagined being able to release Augus, imagined that it wouldn’t spell the end of Augus’ life, and that was satisfying, that Augus would live, get a second chance, one that Gwyn suspected he may even deserve. But he couldn’t foresee any scenario in which Augus would want to stay in touch.

And the fact that Gwyn wanted that, even after the last time and how badly it had gone for him... it was a trap he couldn’t escape. His own body had engineered it, and it left him furious with himself. He knew to avoid entanglements like this, he _knew._ There was a reason he hadn’t let himself be so open since Mafydd, _many_ reasons.

Ultimately, even if Augus betrayed him, even if Augus turned on him, Gwyn knew that the person who’d started it all was himself. He was the one who walked down to Augus’ cell and then kept coming back. He was the one who approached Augus in the first place, all those years ago. He was the one who, upon hearing one of his soldiers comment; ‘he breaks people and puts them back together again,’ wondered – even before he went mad – what being put back together again might be like. He’d spent his entire life broken, it was absurd that there was at least one fae out there who knew what to do with the pieces of someone.

Gwyn had done this to himself because of curiosity, because he couldn’t just _accept_ that things were the way they were supposed to be.

Another week passed, and Gwyn had thrown himself back into his work. He told himself that he wasn’t avoiding Augus while knowing that for the lie that it was. He refused to sleep. He yearned for things he didn’t have a name for, and between that, hated himself for his daring. His parents had taught him, hadn’t they? He wasn’t supposed to want _anything_ for himself, let alone _more_.

It was two days later that Gwyn walked through a curtain of vines only to see Augus standing, waiting for him.

‘Tsk tsk,’ Augus said. Gwyn’s heart-rate shot up, because that was not the way Augus started small talk. ‘You’ve been avoiding me.’

‘I have a Kingdom to run,’ Gwyn said and sidestepped Augus, trying to pull himself together. There was an instinct there to check if Augus was okay, if he needed anything. There was a darker instinct that told him to drop to his knees. He couldn’t stand it.

Gwyn froze when Augus reached out and casually, slowly fisted his hand in the back of Gwyn’s shirt.

‘That’s a convenient excuse,’ Augus said, ‘But as you are the King, you’re also the one who can take a break from running the Kingdom.’

Augus stepped forwards and Gwyn felt him, a sharp presence behind him, a coiled mass of energy. He smelled like fresh water and mineral-rich soil, of the land after days of heavy rain. Augus was in a mood. Though what for, Gwyn couldn’t tell.

The last time he’d been ambushed like this, Augus had tied him up, had shown him the sounds, hadn’t _listened,_ had forced-

Gwyn made a sound before he could stop himself, tensed.

‘I think you need something you didn’t get last time I had you,’ Augus said quietly, the words hypnotic and almost soothing. ‘I think you need something that you don’t understand, and don’t know how to ask for. And I think you’re afraid now, that I just might give it to you.’

Gwyn’s stomach dropped and he swallowed, his breathing turned shallow.

The hand knotted in the back of his shirt relaxed, spread out flat across his spine, and then ran over his skin through his shirt until Augus could palm his ribs, until he could wrap his hand, possessive, around the front of his torso in what was almost a one-handed embrace. Augus was standing against him now, chest pressed against his back, breathing against his neck. Gwyn blinked rapidly, wondered what Augus wanted. Wondered what he thought Gwyn needed, because he’d been wrong last time.

‘You can go deeper, you know,’ Augus said, pressing his lips to the back of Gwyn’s neck. Gwyn shuddered, and then bit his own lip when Augus scraped teeth across his skin, a threat, a line of sensation that made him forget what he was supposed to be doing.

‘Deeper?’ Gwyn said.

‘And I’d like to see that, very much,’ Augus said, ‘I’d like to see how far I can push you. Because you fall so very hard, and you do it well, Gwyn.’

Gwyn’s eyes closed at the praise. Augus’ hand pushed into his front, encouraging Gwyn to lean backwards against his chest, and Gwyn – after hesitating – went with it. Augus was a solid weight behind him, his chin rested briefly in the space between Gwyn’s neck and shoulder. Then he moved his head so that he could lick the back of Gwyn’s neck again, licking almost up to his hairline before biting softly at a cord of muscle. Gwyn stared ahead, but he wasn’t looking at anything. He was curious, his body wanted to know what would happen next, his mind was shutting down.

‘There you go,’ Augus said. ‘Already, you want this. So _easy._ If I had known this about you before you defeated me, I would have simply found a way to get to you outside of the Court, and I would have stuffed your face full of cock and kept you like that for _days._ I’m almost certain that by the time I was finished with you, I could have cooed your name and you would have bowed your head for a leash, isn’t that right, _King?’_

 _No,_ Gwyn thought, weakly. He told himself the words weren’t a turn on, couldn’t be, because this was exactly the sort of thing that Gwyn was supposed to be worried about. The sort of thing that Augus would turn against him.

‘Why has no one else discovered this about you? Or are you only like this for me, I wonder? Flattering, but it amuses me to imagine you like this for anyone. You’ve been ripe for the taking for centuries. An _amateur_ could do this. I don’t even need to bring my best game with you, Gwyn. I can  be _lazy_ with you _,_ and you still want to roll over.’

Gwyn grit his teeth against the insults, stepped forwards and dug his fingers into Augus’ wrist, pulling the arm away from his side. Augus immediately lashed out with his other hand and dug three fingers into points on his ribs that felt like liquid fire, and Gwyn gasped, froze.

‘I’m not _done,’_ Augus said sharply, disapproving. He dug his fingers in harder and Gwyn hunched over. The fingers felt like steel rods pushing into his side, his ribs felt broken, even though he knew they weren’t. The pain encroached through muscle, drifted through lungs and then made his heart lurch.

When the fingers withdrew, Gwyn stayed hunched over, the pain still racing. Unlike the other pressure points, the pain wasn’t abating. If anything, it felt like it was getting worse. He grit his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut and told himself to just bear it. He jolted when Augus returned his hand and rubbed firmly over the place where his fingers had pressed in, but miraculously, the pain unwound quickly. Gwyn sighed in relief.

When he straightened, he faced Augus and stomped down on that odd breathlessness inside of him.

‘You’re obsessed, Augus. I swallow you down once and you can’t stop bringing it up. Anyone would think you had a problem.’

Augus smirked, his eyes gleamed.

‘Well, you should see yourself – choking on it, crying, eyes squeezed shut, trembling.’

‘I don’t need to do that,’ Gwyn said, ‘When I have the next best thing.’

He stared at Augus meaningfully, and Augus chuckled and stepped forwards, placing his palm over Gwyn’s torso again.

‘I’m going to hurt you, later on today. Do, please, bring the banter with you, because I always enjoy the part where you pretend you stand a chance in hell against me, right before you break and cry. Didn’t you know? It makes the tedium of passing days here almost bearable.’

Augus patted Gwyn’s shoulder with a faux-affection, and then walked off, laughing indulgently as he went.

Gwyn stared ahead wide-eyed, wondering what had just happened.

*

The rest of the day passed as an increasing ball of tension in Gwyn’s gut. He didn’t know what Augus had planned, when he had planned it for, and around eight in the evening he contemplated teleporting out of the Seelie Court and not returning until morning.

But he suspected Augus wouldn’t be entirely happy if he did that either.

Then again, Augus had already promised that whatever he did would hurt, so how much worse could it-

Gwyn shut that line of thought down quickly, because that was just asking for trouble.

At ten in the evening, a hard knot of anticipation in his stomach and mouth dry, he ended up walking to Augus’ rooms, because his mind was conjuring up things he couldn’t bear, and he just wanted to _know_ what Augus had planned. He felt shaky as he walked down the corridor, he stared uncertainly through the stained glass windows into the dusky twilight that never entirely reflected what the actual time of day was.

He picked up Augus’ scent and followed it into Augus’ bedroom, where he was leaning back in his chair, bare feet up on his desk, reading a thick, hardback book on the physics of light. It was a human book, and Gwyn had no idea where he’d gotten it from. Augus had obviously befriended some of the trows, because they seemed to bend over backwards to find him anything he asked for.

‘I wondered how long it would take you,’ Augus said, turning the page and continuing to read. Gwyn watched his eyes move over the page, waited awkwardly in the doorway. Augus came to the end of whatever passage he was reading and slipped a thin, metal bookmark in between the pages – the kind of bookmark that could have easily doubled as a small knife – before carefully folding the book closed. He placed it precisely on the desk, shifted it slightly with his finger until its bottom edge lined up perfectly with the edge of the desk.

He swung his feet off the desk and rose in a quick movement. He stood in front of Gwyn and the weight of that undivided attention was disconcerting.

Gwyn took an involuntary step backwards when Augus reached out for him.

‘No, no, you came here, to me,’ Augus said, tucking his fingers into the collar of Gwyn’s shirt and pulling him forwards. The backs of his fingernails scraped against Gwyn’s collarbone. ‘Aren’t you curious? Didn’t you decide it was better to know?’

‘I certainly decided you might not like it if I left.’

‘But you didn’t _actually_ leave, think the better of it, and then return? Impressive.’

‘I don’t appreciate you playing with me like this,’ Gwyn said, and then blinked when Augus tiptoed the fingers of both his hands along the sides of Gwyn’s neck, stroking over his internal carotid arteries, drawing forth sensation. He dug his fingertips into flesh, and Gwyn was surprised at how blunt Augus’ nails were. The claws were filed down. They’d grow back quickly, but he’d smoothed them down, it was odd for there to be no sharp points threatening to break through his skin.

One of Augus’ hands dropped down and with no preamble, cupped him through his pants, and Gwyn couldn’t move. Augus blinked with a sleepy satisfaction, a predatory spark lighting up in his eyes.

‘You do appreciate me playing with you like this. See?’

It didn’t take much to rouse Gwyn to half-hardness, and then further. Augus’ hand barely shifted against him, and Gwyn stared past his face and looked at a point in the room, wishing he had an idea of what Augus had planned. When Augus smoothed his palm over him, pressing down with the heel of his hand, Gwyn’s mouth thinned.

‘You can speak today,’ Augus said, ‘When I give you a chance to.’

‘Pardon?’ Gwyn said, and his voice was already weaker.

‘But when I ask you to do something, you had best do it _quickly,_ do you understand? Or is my hand, _here,_ getting in the way of your ability to comprehend what I’m saying?’

Fingers squeezed at the head of his cock through the fabric, and the pressure, the texture of the cloth, the fact that he was only newly aroused and still wary all combined to make him over-sensitive. He nodded quickly, hissed uncomfortably, and Augus relented for a few seconds, then squeezed again, likely just to show that he could.

‘Close the door,’ Augus said crisply, and Gwyn turned out of Augus’ touch and closed it, uneasy when Augus pressed himself up against Gwyn’s back. He was starting to realise that Augus had a thing for crowding him. He was starting to realise that _he_ had a thing for it. It overwhelmed his senses, scattered he rest of his thoughts.

‘Lock it,’ Augus said.

‘No one will bother us,’ Gwyn said, ‘I’m not su-’

Gwyn cried out in shock and then pain as Augus reached around and dug his fingers into his ribs again, finding the same pressure points as before. Gwyn’s hand came out and braced himself against the door he’d just closed, white sparks were exploding in his vision. It was worse than last time. It _hurt._

‘I _just_ said that when I asked you to do something, you had best do it quickly. Pay attention, Gwyn. I don’t need claws to hurt you.’

Gwyn gasped and fumbled at the lock, and it was only when it clicked into place that Augus relented, releasing his fingers from where it felt like they’d been digging through muscle directly into his bones. He didn’t know what it was about those particular pressure points, but they stayed locked up like a muscle spasm until Augus returned his fingers and rubbed over the space again, smoothing out the pain. Gwyn shuddered out an exhale of relief, and Augus made a small, unhappy sound behind him.

‘So tense,’ he muttered, almost to himself. Gwyn didn’t read an order in the words, so he took a moment to rest his head against the door. Augus pressed the flats of his fingers over certain points on Gwyn’s ribs, and pain flared briefly then released, causing warmth to flow through him. After a while, the quality of the pressure changed. He frowned as the hand soothing over the pressure points became fingers simply smoothing over his torso.

‘What are you doing?’ Gwyn said, confused.

‘I’m touching you,’ Augus said, the part where Augus said ‘you idiot,’ at the end was implied in his tone.

‘Yes, but-’

‘So eager to hurt?’ Augus said, and Gwyn’s eyes widened.

‘That’s not what I meant,’ he said.

Augus stepped back several steps and Gwyn turned around, feeling the absence of Augus’ hand from his side, and a residual dull ache where the pain had initially flared. He would like to find the fae that had taught Augus about pressure points and throttle them. Likely it was Fluri, and she was dead anyway, but _still._ He didn’t remember Fluri ever being _that_ good with them, but then perhaps he’d just never been in a position to find out.

‘Take your clothes off,’ Augus said. Gwyn blinked at him, shivered.

Gwyn’s hands moved automatically to his shirt. Last time he’d taken too long, he’d had claws rake into his skin. This time the threat was likely pressure points.  Either way, he didn’t care enough about being clothed to risk getting hurt again. He dropped his shirt to the floor and went to work on his pants, letting them crease at his feet. He straightened, stepped out of the pants and looked at Augus to distract himself from looking over at the bed, from speculating about what might be happening. The bed dominated the room.

‘Now me,’ Augus said, smirking, raising an arm to indicate his shirt.

Gwyn narrowed his eyes and stepped forwards. This wasn’t something he’d had to do before, and he was curious, wary. He placed both of his hands at Augus’ shoulders, and Augus clucked his tongue in disapproval.

‘Unbutton it.’

‘It’s...’ _a wide-necked shirt, I can pull it off._

Gwyn cut himself off, reaching down for the first button at Augus’ chest. It didn’t matter if it could be taken off all at once, just like it hadn’t mattered whether the door needed to be locked. These things were arbitrary. Augus was simply giving him spaces to resist his orders to see what he would do. He ignored the way Augus’ smile widened as he carefully unbuttoned his shirt, letting the fabric fall open, exposing Augus’ chest and telling himself not to look so that he could stay focused. He reached up after undoing the last button and eased the fabric off his shoulders. He didn’t know if he should let it fall to the floor, but Augus didn’t say that he should do anything else with it, so he let it drop.

He lowered his hands to Augus’ pants – dark gray today – and Augus rested his hands over Gwyn’s, a stilling motion.

‘No. Take these off while you’re on your knees.’

Gwyn’s heart-rate spiked again, he looked at Augus to double-check, then looked away as he dropped onto the hard floor. The wood was cold against his knees. He was finding this part harder, eagerness and dread tangling up together until he wasn’t sure exactly what to do. But Augus had told him what to do, hadn’t he? He reached up with his hands once more, and this time Augus didn’t stop him.

When Gwyn hooked his hands into the hem of the pants to bring them down, Augus reached down suddenly and placed his fingertips back over Gwyn’s neck, finding the shape of his carotid arteries and stroking downwards. Augus brought his fingers back up and pressed, and Gwyn felt the constriction in his throat, rasped a breath before the pressure lightened. The fingers only withdrew when Gwyn pulled off Augus’ pants properly. Augus wasn’t yet hard, but that didn’t surprise Gwyn. Still, a cool flicker of disappointment washed through him.

‘On the bed,’ Augus said, stepping back. ‘On your back. Head flat, not resting on the pillows.’

Gwyn narrowed his eyes at the odd order, but didn’t say anything. Then it occurred to him as he got on the bed, trepidation settling in his bones, that he could talk as freely as he wanted to. Augus had said he could speak.

‘Why no pillows?’ Gwyn said as he lowered himself down onto his back. In order to avoid the pillows, he had to lie down further on the bed. He was too long for it, and he bent his legs, nervously pulling at the fabric of the duvet between his thumb and forefinger. Instincts warred with each other inside of him. There was one that told him that he should be fighting back, teleporting away into light, but that voice was harder to listen to than the one that just told him to listen, to pay attention.  

‘Because,’ Augus said as he crawled onto the bed with his sleek animal grace. ‘I’m going to choke you, and this will make it easier on me.’

Gwyn pushed himself upright at those words, eyes widening. Augus placed a hands flat on his chest as he straddled him and pushed him back down with a significant amount of strength.

‘That’s why you cut your nails,’ Gwyn said, frustrated, a spool of curiosity unwinding inside of him. He didn’t want to be interested in this. It was _dangerous._

‘Yes,’ Augus said, looking down at him with lidded eyes. ‘It’s actually something I quite enjoy. Usually, it’s something done while your cock is being stimulated. Hypoxia is a stimulant, you know. But as _you_ tend to come in about thirty to sixty seconds, I wondered what would happen if I just sat here and wrapped my hands around your throat.’

‘And you think I’ll just _let_ you do that,’ Gwyn said, flat, and Augus bared his teeth in a grin. It was feral, and Gwyn pushed himself up again, pushing at Augus with his hand. Augus grasped his wrist and dug fingers in between the veins, finding a locus of nerves that blazed like fire down his arm. It left his arm weak and his hand went limp. He growled in frustration, tried to move his hand and wrist, but they wouldn’t respond.

‘I think I’ll make you let me,’ Augus crooned, increasing the pressure until numbness followed the length of pain all the way to Gwyn’s shoulder. ‘Lie down.’

‘Last time you did the... _that_ to me _,_ this time you-’

Augus let go of his arm suddenly and pulled Gwyn’s jaw around with thumb and forefinger, staring at him. His eyebrows pulled together, his mouth twisted down.

‘ _That?_ You can’t say _sounding?_ Say it.’

Gwyn swallowed, jerked his head out of Augus’ grip and shoved at him hard. Augus tightened his legs around Gwyn’s torso, but Gwyn was stronger, more determined, and he disengaged himself. He pushed himself back up the bed until his shoulders hit the headboard. His heart was pounding now, because he hadn’t done something he’d been asked to, because once again he wasn’t _pleasing_ Augus. He wanted to, but he’d be damned before he’d get caught in a situation like last time.

Augus twisted on the bed, lurched forwards to attack and then stilled, the dissatisfaction on his face blending into something very different. He paused, and then settled back until he was sitting, he folded his hands in his lap. He looked contained.

‘Say it,’ Augus said, and Gwyn glared at him. ‘Don’t think about last time, think about the time with me, when you enjoyed yourself, and say it.’

Gwyn didn’t like this at all. He didn’t like that Augus knew how uncomfortable it made him. He didn’t like that he couldn’t actually say it. Or that Augus was just sitting there watching him, instead of pushing him or fighting back like he thought he would. He was confused. And it shouldn’t be hard anyway. He had to say things all the time that he didn’t enjoy saying. Talking with his mother alone was a constant exercise in forcing himself to say things that he didn’t want to say, such as – for example – anything at all. He didn’t particularly enjoy talking with Crielle.

‘You know,’ Augus said, speculatively. ‘At the time, you joked that you might want to come later. At the end, when you were _slightly_ more at ease. But you haven’t asked me since then, and you’ve been avoiding me. When was the last time you got yourself off?’

Gwyn frowned. Now he had no idea what was going on.

It was also a subject that made him uncomfortable.

‘I don’t really...’ Gwyn shook his head, he sighed. ‘It’s been a while.’

‘You aren’t serious?’ Augus said, staring at him. ‘I had this delightful image of you tugging yourself off about twenty times a day.’

‘Three weeks maybe,’ Gwyn said, and Augus’ eyes widened. It wasn’t often that Gwyn saw Augus truly shocked, and he suspected he was seeing it now.

‘Tell me what you thought about three weeks ago?’ Augus asked, recovering from his shock quickly and tilting his head to the side.

Gwyn flushed, because what he thought about three weeks ago was Augus forcing his cock down the back of Gwyn’s throat. Gwyn couldn’t even say that he only thought about the parts where he’d gained back more control. He’d thought about _all_ of it. Even the parts where Augus hadn’t stopped, had hurt him, had looked down at him with that smug anger in his eyes and said, _Take it, Gwyn._ In fact, Gwyn remembered, looking down at the texture of the duvet, that may have actually been when he’d come.

Gwyn cleared his throat, and then looked up when Augus crawled towards him, his smirk returning.

‘Tell me,’ Augus sing-songed, putting his hands on Gwyn’s thighs and raising himself up until they were on a level. ‘Did you think about _me?’_

Gwyn looked up at the ceiling. He was in trouble here, he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t particularly want to give Augus the satisfaction, but obviously it was too late for that, as he had an incredibly smug look on his face.

‘Because I think I can guess, if you _did,’_ Augus said, sliding his hands forwards until they met his hips and slid inwards. The confidence of it, having Augus find his way closer to his cock, it was distracting. Gwyn exhaled through an open mouth.

‘Augus-’

‘But I want you to tell me. Didn’t you know? Repressed, uppity Kings who are so good at talking filth when they’re in control, but can’t manage basic sentences the rest of the time, are a thing of mine. Go on, tell me.’

Augus rested one hand at the crease where Gwyn’s bent leg met his torso, and curled his other hand around Gwyn’s cock. Gwyn closed his eyes.

‘If you tell me, we can do it again,’ Augus said, voice rich and promising.

_Fuck._

‘If you _say_ it, we can maybe kill two birds with one stone. I want to see you without air, and I think you want to be without air, in a very _specific_ context. But you have to _tell_ me _.’_

‘You said you were going to hurt me,’ Gwyn said, and Augus’ expression flickered for just a moment.

‘I think I already have,’ he said, something unreadable in his tone. Then it became confident once more, transforming to smoothness. ‘And I think I will again. And I think I might tonight, if you let me bruise the back of your fucking throat.’

Gwyn swallowed, then moaned when Augus began moving his hand up and down, a slow, rhythmic movement. Augus dropped his head and placed his teeth on Gwyn’s neck in an open bite, pressing down, licking with his tongue. He withdrew and then arched up again, making eye contact.

‘Tell me, Gwyn,’ Augus said, ‘I’m being so very patient. Tell me what you thought of, three weeks ago.’

‘I...You,’ Gwyn said, looking sideways. The hand on him tightened as if in reward, moved faster. Gwyn licked at his dry lips, shuddered, wished this was easier but it wasn’t. He’d never been good at this. ‘Um, when you had me on my knees.’

‘When I had you on your knees doing _what?’_

The hand that had been moving on him withdrew, became a palm smoothing over his lower belly, then tracing a curve of muscle on his upper thigh. Gwyn shifted, restless, and Augus dug his fingers into muscle, scraped them over his skin. Gwyn grunted.

‘Tell me,’ Augus said, ‘And I’ll give you something else to think about, next time.’

Gwyn’s head fell backwards at the thought, it thumped into the headboard. Augus laughed in the back of his throat.

‘But you have to _tell_ me,’ Augus said. ‘Isn’t this novel though? When you’re lording it over me, you’re all ‘suck my cock’ this, and ‘I’m going to make it hurt’ that. And now look at you. Aren’t you embarrassed for yourself? Or is that the problem? You’ve been alive for long enough, Gwyn, why are you so _shy?_ ’

‘I’m not _shy,’_ Gwyn said, voice hardening, and then he hissed when Augus wrapped his hand around his cock again, moving slowly, maddeningly.

‘You _are,’_ Augus said, smug. ‘So go on then, if you’re so bold, tell me what you thought of, the last time you wrapped a hand around your cock and...well, do you stick fingers inside of yourself?’

Gwyn’s eyes flew open.

‘No!’ he said, affronted, and Augus tipped his head forward helplessly as he started to laugh. His hand paused in its movements and instead he just chuckled quietly. Gwyn ground his teeth together.

‘Not even once?’ Augus said, and Gwyn scowled. Augus was teasing him now.

‘You want to know what I thought about?’ Gwyn said, and Augus hummed.

‘I keep asking you, don’t I?’

‘I thought about how deep you were able to go,’ Gwyn said quickly, determined, ‘and how _good_ that felt. I thought about how my throat hurt for at least a full day afterwards, which meant that you did some damage, because my healing doesn’t usually take that long. And I liked it. I couldn’t look at any one of my colleagues or citizens the next day and talk to them without thinking about it. I thought about how your breathing changed when I was able to go at my own pace, without any hands, just my mouth, and tongue, and throat around your cock. But instead of it ending the way it did, I imagined you spilling down my throat, because if you must know-’

Gwyn didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. Augus surged up and sealed his mouth over Gwyn’s, thrust his tongue in deep. Augus’ hand worked at him, fast and confident now, thumb moving over the head of him and striking a core of warmth within, causing it to spread. Gwyn’s eyes closed, his face was burning. He couldn’t believe he’d said all of that, could hardly believe Augus’ reaction to it.

‘Move,’ Augus demanded as he pulled back, biting Gwyn’s lower lip. ‘Move so I can choke you with it again. We’re doing breathplay tonight one way or another, Gwyn. Might as well be the way you can stand.’

Augus moved up alongside Gwyn so that he was sitting with his back against the headboard, he had at some point become fully hard, and when Augus pointed at the space between his legs, Gwyn went, a hunger burning inside of him. He hoped that he had something to do with Augus being hard. He moved forwards, impatient, ready to start, but Augus placed a quiet hand on his shoulder. Gwyn looked up, confused, and Augus was watching him, all traces of self-satisfaction or smugness gone from his face, his mouth was pulled down at the corners, his eyes sober.

‘I’m serious,’ Augus said. ‘Breathplay. You have pressure points here.’

Augus reached forwards and dug his index and middle fingers into the sides of Gwyn’s jaw, where the bottom hinged into the top. Gwyn felt nothing, and then Augus inched his fingers upwards until he found what he was looking for. There was a flare of mild pain and his bottom jaw went lax.

‘I’m going to use them so you don’t hurt me. Do you understand?’

Gwyn stared at him as Augus removed his fingers from the pressure points. The pain died down. Augus kept his hands on Gwyn’s face, and Gwyn couldn’t look away. Augus was being gentle, but there was something fierce in his eyes, something determined.  

‘I don’t plan on pushing you to blackout,’ Augus said, eyes bright, ‘But I will push you.’

‘You are serious,’ Gwyn said, and he wanted to take the words back as soon as he’d said them. Of course Augus was serious. He’d been in Augus’ playrooms before, hadn’t he? He’d seen at least some of the things that Augus was versed in, he shouldn’t be surprised that this was one of them. Fear bubbled and Augus’ fingers shifted on his face, he leaned closer.

‘Your pupils just dilated,’ Augus said, and then the side of his mouth turned up. ‘Good.’

His hands slid up Gwyn’s cheeks and into his hair, and then he put increasing pressure on Gwyn’s head, pushing him down.

‘Start,’ Augus said, and Gwyn went with the movement, moving so that he was as comfortable as possible. He rested his right arm on the outside of Augus’ thigh, bracing his forearm on the blankets. He placed his left hand on Augus’ torso, wanting something to hold onto, liking the tautness of Augus’ musculature, the way his lukewarm skin warmed underneath Gwyn’s palm.

Augus’ hands slackened, rising up and shifting through his curls, letting Gwyn – at least for now – go at his own pace. Gwyn wished his mouth wasn’t so dry, but he figured that wouldn’t be a problem for long. He stretched his tongue out, licked the head of Augus’ cock, familiarised himself with the shape of it in a way he hadn’t been able to last time. His fingers twitched against Augus’ torso, where Augus – in turn – had taken a sudden, deep breath. Every breath after that was forced back to evenness, but Gwyn had noticed, couldn’t repress the pleasure that rose inside of him at that involuntary response.

He didn’t take Augus into his mouth straight away, testing his leeway. He licked a semi-dry stripe down the length of him, and Augus’ hands tightened in his hair, but didn’t force him to do anything else. He licked his way back up again and took the head of Augus into his mouth, pushing down and realising the angle was slightly wrong. He hitched his shoulders up and concentrated; not perfect, but better. It would have to do. He sank lower, breathed through his nose, head spinning already.

Gwyn started to lift his head to increase the amount of saliva in his mouth, but Augus’ hands tightened and prevented the movement.

‘All the way down,’ Augus breathed. ‘Since you’re so good at it.’

Gwyn hesitated, took in a deep breath his nose and closed his eyes, wishing the nerves would disappear. They fluttered sickeningly in his gut, made him aware that he wanted to do well, that he didn’t know what was coming, that he didn’t know if he’d manage, that he wanted to _please._ He lowered down anyway, Augus’ hands an unforgiving pressure, and Gwyn not wanting to resist.

When Augus hit the back of his throat, he paused, focused. He could do this. He tried to will his neck to relax as he swallowed, and Augus slid through into his throat. His gag reflex closed in immediately and he made a sound of frustration. One of Augus’ hands gentled, palmed the side of his head and then stroked his forehead and cheek in a way that reminded him of an ancient, familiar touch, and Gwyn’s mind tilted, his breath hitched. _Mafydd._ His heart ached, felt like it was splintering, and he moaned in despair. He’d done this _before._

Augus hand stopped moving at the sound, he leaned forward, he’d _noticed,_ but Gwyn didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to _think_ , and he had the perfect solution for that in his mouth, entering his throat. He forced himself down roughly, not stopping until there was no more of Augus left to take in, until his nose was touching Augus’ skin, thick with the scent of him. He sucked experimentally and Augus touched the side of his face with his fingertips, then smoothed back up and ruffled his hair.

‘Up,’ Augus said, and Gwyn lifted his head, mouth wet, breathing as soon as he was able. He kept his mouth open a little as he looked up at Augus.

‘Why are we stopping?’ Gwyn said, confused, and Augus narrowed his eyes. Gwyn noticed a flush on his cheeks, and felt his own cock twitch against the bed.

‘Because,’ Augus said, expression smoothing into something dark, ‘It’s the last time you’re going to have this much oxygen in your bloodstream for a little while. You should enjoy it.’

Gwyn blinked, dazed, and then took a deep breath, wondering what he was getting himself into.

‘Down,’ Augus said, and Gwyn went with the pressure again, tracing the fingers of his left hand over Augus’ skin as he went. A small voice in the back of his mind shrieked that he should not be this easy, that he should not allow something like this, but it the voice was easy to ignore when he lowered his mouth over Augus once more and swallowed him down, finding himself overwhelmed as his throat stretched open again, the painful scrape of it, the concentration it required.

He realised that Augus wanted him to find his own rhythm, and he did, taking small catches of breath where he could, mouth kicking in and producing more than enough saliva. He was hard against the blankets, ground his hips down on a downstroke and groaned when his mind went satisfyingly blank.

The next time Augus bottomed out in his throat, Augus straightened, and one of the hands on the back of his head fisted hard into his hair, held him down. Gwyn jerked, scraped his cock against the blankets involuntarily and grunted. His throat hurt, his scalp hurt, his chest still ached.

Seconds passed, and Gwyn trembled when Augus lowered his other hand down to Gwyn’s jaw and pressed his index and middle finger into the point he had before. Gwyn’s jaw was already open, already lax, he knew Augus was just preparing for when Gwyn might not have control over his reflexes. It sent a thick wave of fear through him, because already he couldn’t breathe.

He wondered why Augus thought this would be effective though. Gwyn could simply move his head upwards, resist the pressure. And as he wondered that, Augus’ other hand on the back of his head twisted so that fingers were pointing in the direction of his neck. They shifted down to the space where skull met cervical vertebrae and stroked firmly. Suddenly Augus seemed to find what he was looking for and fingertips pressed down hard.

Gwyn’s eyes flew open, he couldn’t move upwards at all. The back of his neck had locked up, it wasn’t like anything he’d experienced before, and it was frightening. He made a sound of distress and Augus hushed him.

‘Hang in there,’ Augus said, ‘It’s temporary.’

Augus shifted, arched his hips so that his cock shifted painfully in Gwyn’s throat. It shouldn’t have been a turn on, it shouldn’t have distracted him, but it did. Gwyn made a sharp sound that might have been a moan if he’d had any air, then whined when he realised oxygen _was_ becoming a problem. He blinked tears out of his eyes, his vision blurred. Augus’ fingers pressed into the side of his jaw and pain flared briefly, mild because his mouth was already open.

Seconds passed and Gwyn choked out several repetitive sounds of protest, and Augus made a responding sound of approval that made Gwyn’s chest feel even tighter. His body felt too hot, too wound up already. He tried to strain backwards, his shoulders bunched to push himself up and off, but the fingers digging into the back of his neck meant his spine wasn’t cooperating.

Augus hissed, and Gwyn realised that he was digging his nails into Augus’ torso, that he was clawing. The pain in his chest was getting worse, he could feel his heart labouring. He reminded himself that this couldn’t kill him. That if dying was as simple as prolonged oxygen deprivation, he would have been dead years ago. It _couldn’t_ kill him. But the pressure and the pain were spiralling upwards and threads of black panic started to pick up speed.

Suddenly the hand lifted up off the base of his neck and Gwyn pushed up and off, chest heaving for air. He coughed wetly, gasping, and shook his head because he was so hard, he was still so hard. He thought he might even be more sensitive now than he was before.

‘Down again,’ Augus said, twisting his fingers into Gwyn’s hair and tugging him back. ‘That’s enough air.’

‘Augus...’ Gwyn said, voice shot through with raggedness. Augus cleared his throat, took a shaky breath.

‘ _Down.’_

Gwyn went down on Augus again, but it was harder this time to open his throat, his lungs still heaving for air. He had less control over his neck muscles. He whimpered as Augus’ cock scraped over bruises, whimpered again when Augus dragged his fingers reassuringly over his scalp. Augus moved his hands again in a slow, drugging manner and Gwyn’s blood leapt with arousal. He pushed his hips down into the blankets, rolled them, and was able to take Augus down all the way as a blaze of heat filled him.

‘Are you close?’ Augus said, and Gwyn shrugged, because he didn’t know. It was confusing, he felt...split, somehow. He couldn’t tell.

‘Find the pace you like,’ Augus said roughly, as Gwyn started bobbing his head slowly up and down. ‘And follow that with your hips.’

Gwyn found his pace and experimentally rolled his hips into the bed, following the rhythm, realised quickly that he was closer than he’d thought. He found himself tapping at Augus’ torso, letting him know, and then his brow furrowed when he realised what he was doing. When did he start doing _that?_

Augus said nothing, but on a downstroke soon after Gwyn started tapping, his hand pushed down on the back of his head once more and fingers sought out the pressure point at the back of his neck. Gwyn wished he’d sucked in a deeper breath last time, and then thought flooded out of him as his vertebrae locked up and fingers found the side of his jaw, stroking twice, almost affectionate, before resting, waiting. Gwyn could feel his heart thumping hard already, feel his discordant pulse points. His whole body felt like it was throbbing.

He moaned thickly when he realised how hard he was.

‘Hold off,’ Augus said softly. ‘Hold off, and you can come next time, I promise.’

Gwyn’s head was swimming, his mouth and throat hurt, were full. Dizziness powered into him and he made a sharp, short sound when his chest heaved sharply without his input. Augus was saying something else, but sound had become murky. He had far less oxygen left in his bloodstream than he did before, and he was closer to the blackness. He became aware that he was shaking.

Sharp pain flared through his jaw, a lightning strike up through the side of his face. He startled, that had been unexpected. He realised, dimly, that Augus had pressed his fingers in before, and that Gwyn had automatically gone to close his jaw without realising. His reflexes were kicking in.

Frustratingly, he was still hard, he wanted that release more than anything. His body taunted him, told him that release would be deep, satisfying breaths of air, that it would be more than just pleasure.

Gwyn wasn’t thinking properly when Augus let go of the pressure point on the back of his neck, and – close to blacking out – Augus quickly pushed his hand underneath Gwyn’s chin and helped him up and off. Gwyn’s shoulders gave way and he gasped for air, had no idea how much time had passed. It hadn’t seemed like long at all, but now he wasn’t sure. Time wasn’t working properly. Fingers pressed into the pulse at his neck. The fingers of Augus’ other hand stroked his forehead.

‘S this good for you?’ Gwyn heard himself say between spasms of coughing, his voice too rough to cooperate. Augus smoothed his hand over Gwyn’s face, collecting tears and spreading them.

‘If you must know, I’m having to hold myself off too,’ Augus said, unsteadily, and laughed. ‘I am, after all, a sadist.’

‘Are,’ Gwyn managed, in exhausted agreement.

‘That’s enough,’ Augus said, tugging at Gwyn’s hair until Gwyn forced his arm underneath himself. He felt uncoordinated, his lungs were on fire. He didn’t know if he could do this again. There was no way he’d be able to tolerate it under any other circumstance, and he didn’t know if he could withstand it again. Deepthroating was one thing, but this was beyond what he had words for, tipped him over a line into a scattered, disorganised place.

‘Please,’ Gwyn sobbed, and Augus kept pulling on his hair. ‘ _Augus.’_

‘It will be quick, this time,’ Augus said, and Gwyn hoped he was right, hoped this wasn’t one of those times when Augus said one thing but meant something else entirely. ‘Again, Gwyn. Focus.’

Gwyn listened, tried to obey. He lowered himself again and hissed at the pain in the back of his throat, rose up away from it, still felt like he hadn’t properly caught his breath.  

‘Come on, Gwyn. Let me come down your throat, isn’t that what you wanted?’

 _Fuck,_ Gwyn thought again, lowering his mouth around Augus, forcing his own throat open and holding back the sudden urge to laugh. He’d withstood _torture,_ but Augus pressing down the back of his throat made him want to cry out, and he whined again, frustrated, pained, full.

‘ _Move_ , Gwyn,’ Augus said, voice carrying an edge which sounded like impatience, confirmed when Augus’ cock twitched in his mouth.

Gwyn started moving his head first, far clumsier than before. His hips followed, and he wasn’t going to last, his cock had a mind of its own and whatever pain was going on in the upper half of Gwyn’s body wasn’t reflected there at all. He started tapping at Augus’ torso again, over and over, because how, _how_ was he supposed to-

That pressure again, at the back of his neck, fingers digging in at the base of his skull. And other fingers pressed into the side of his jaw as his throat closed around Augus, who was swelling against him, and his head screeched at him for air, air, _air_ -

His eyes flew open as the bolts of pleasure shooting through him turned into a shaft of something sharper, ripping up along his spine and through his gut. He made a short, stifled sound around Augus and began to come, shattered by it. A moment later Augus gave a brief, quiet moan and began to spill down the back of his throat. Gwyn couldn’t coordinate his reflexes, swallowed a silty, rounded flavour without thinking even as his lungs screamed. Black encroached on his vision, at first slow, then with the quickness of a striking snake.

Hands were shifting around him, moving fast, moving him up and off and Gwyn was choking and coughing and still coming which was impossible, wasn’t possible, and he just wanted his lungs to stop hurting, to stop searing him with their demand for air because he was giving it to them, he was trying to breathe. His lungs had gone into spasm and he fisted a hand up into blankets, eyes squeezed shut and riding out heavy currents of sensation, some pleasurable, some painful, all tangled up in a ball that he couldn’t find his way out of.

Gwyn came back to himself slowly. He focused first on the hand that was stroking the side of his face over and over again, fingers tracing an eyebrow, then the upper curve of his cheekbone, all the way down to his jaw, before starting again. He became aware of a flat pressure against his chest – Augus’ palm measuring out his heartbeats, resting over his sternum. After a minute, that hand came up and checked the pulse point at his neck for a few seconds, before drifting back down to his chest and rubbing circles over his skin; slow, grounding circles.

Gwyn pressed his face into the blankets, struck by the sudden, unexpected urge to cry. He swallowed the sobs down, but couldn’t stop the fresh wave of tears that came. He was just too undone. He’d come too far apart.

Time passed, Gwyn’s mind drifted, floating in a blackness as deep as  that which had crested over his vision before. He became aware of things slowly. That, somehow, he had ended up half on his side, his head in Augus’ lap. That his chest was still hitching on every inhale, and that his lungs ached. His throat was a mess, and one side of his face was bruised where Augus had dug into the pressure point between his upper and lower jaw. The back of his neck also felt bruised, stiff. Gwyn felt a small flicker of dark humour – Augus had said it was going to hurt, and even if there had been a change of plans, at least he had good follow through.  

But he was dimly aware of other things too. He felt sated. There was a tension he’d been carrying for weeks which had disappeared. It was still there in the background, but for now, he couldn’t feel it. He felt lighter, somehow. He blinked blurred vision away and saw Augus looking down at him, watching him with an unreadable expression on his face.

‘Aftercare,’ Augus said, and Gwyn squinted up at him. ‘I’m getting up, getting you something to drink. Stay there. As though you could do anything else.’

Augus shifted and Gwyn’s eyes widened, struck with a sudden sense that Augus was going to _go._ He twisted sharply, fearful, and Augus froze.

‘Really?’ Augus said, looking down at him, mouth twisting into a tired smile. ‘I’d just like to point out that you being like _this_ is why you had to make that blood-oath. Gwyn, I’m not even leaving the room. Calm down.’

Gwyn watched Augus as he got off the bed and walked around it to his desk. Gwyn hadn’t noticed the carafe of water there before, or the glass beside it. There were – he thought – what looked like herbs floating in the water. That was as far as his mind was willing to go before it blanked again. He blinked in surprise when Augus was back by the bed and pulling him upright, frowning when Gwyn still had problems coordinating himself.

Gwyn wrapped shaking fingers around the glass, but Augus wouldn’t let it go, and so they both guided it to Gwyn’s mouth.

‘You sink so far down, don’t you?’ Augus said softly, as Gwyn took his first sip of water. It tasted sour, astringent, and the first swallow was like thorns in the back of his throat. He winced, and Augus made a sound of sympathy. ‘All of it, the herbs will help.’

Gwyn wanted to ask him just how many times Augus had done this before, but he didn’t want to talk. He finished the glass of water slowly, noticing halfway through that his throat was hurting less, there was a numbing effect that caused the inside of mouth to tingle. He took longer sips and then watched as Augus placed the glass onto his desk and crawled back onto the bed. He took up his place against the headboard again, rearranging cushions and pillows behind himself. He sighed once he was comfortable, then reached forwards and pulled Gwyn over.

Gwyn ended up with his head back in Augus’ lap, the side of his face on Augus’ thigh and his arms by Augus’ sides. Augus placed both of his hands flat on Gwyn’s back, and then paused. Instead he reached around himself and picked up Gwyn’s arms at the wrists, moving them.

‘Like this,’ Augus said, ‘Around me.’

Gwyn furrowed his brow, unsure of what he meant, and then realisation dawned on him. Augus wanted him to wrap his arms around Augus’ torso. Uncertainly, he did it. It felt oddly sweet, and it set him on edge.

Augus placed his palm flat over one of Gwyn’s hands and pushed.

‘Press your hands into me,’ Augus said, and Gwyn did. ‘Gwyn...’

Augus laughed, and Gwyn furrowed his brow, not certain what had caused it this time.

‘Embrace me,’ Augus said, and Gwyn frowned. Why would Augus want that? And wasn’t that what Gwyn was doing? ‘Gwyn, surely you...’

Augus leaned forwards until his hair was brushing the space between Gwyn’s shoulder blades, his hands stroked a long, languid stroke down Gwyn’s back. Gwyn sighed and his arms shifted against Augus, uncertain. He didn’t know quite what to do.

‘Gwyn,’ Augus murmured, ‘when was the last time someone fucked you, and it was gentle?’

Gwyn closed his eyes, he couldn’t keep up with Augus’ thoughts, his tangents, he didn’t have the energy to even _try._ Instead, he cast his mind around for an answer to the question.

‘Last time,’ Gwyn said, voice still not quite his own. ‘When you rode me.’

Augus shook his head, the motion sent his hair trailing damply across Gwyn’s back.

‘No. That doesn’t count, I’m afraid. Last time doesn’t count as a gentle experience for you, regardless of what that looked like. So when? Tell me.’

‘You’re bossy,’ Gwyn complained and then pushed his face into Augus’ torso and breathed in the scent of him. It was easier to say that, than to say _I don’t know._ Especially because it would be a lie, he did know. It was a long time ago. _Mafydd._ Things he didn’t want to think about. He shook his head absently.

Augus sighed, and Gwyn shifted his head up so he could speak.

‘I don’t know what you’re sighing about,’ he complained.

‘You wouldn’t, would you?’ Augus said. Gwyn couldn’t be bothered figuring out his tone. He awkwardly pressed his hands into Augus’ sides, then shivered when Augus stroked his spine again, using the heels of his palms for added pressure. It unwound something in the base of Gwyn’s neck, and he moaned in gratitude. That was very good.

‘I wasn’t gentle with you, the very first time we met,’ Augus said, and Gwyn shrugged tiredly. Gwyn hadn’t been looking for gentle, he’d been looking for absolution.  ‘And you say you wouldn’t have let me administer aftercare that first time, if you hadn’t been tied up and dazed in the first place.’

‘And?’ Gwyn said, and Augus breathed out a laugh that had nothing of mirth in it.

‘Nothing, really.’

‘Doesn’t sound like nothing,’ Gwyn said, and Augus feathered his fingers through Gwyn’s hair. It was nice, was something that didn’t hurt. Gwyn wanted to arch his head into the touch, but he thought that might not be the right thing to do, so he stayed still.

‘You thought the last time was gentle,’ Augus said, and then laughed again, the sound soft and despairing.

‘Am I missing something?’ Gwyn said, vexed, beginning to twist around and then stopping when Augus placed a hand on his shoulder to stop the movement. The hand stroked him back down again, squeezed when he settled.  

‘I don’t think this is a conversation you’re ready to have,’ Augus said, and then he shook his head again. ‘It’s a conversation I’m not ready to have.’

‘If breathplay makes you this melancholy, Augus, it’s going to be tough to convince me to do it again.’

‘That’s a lie,’ Augus said, and Gwyn’s lips quirked up when he heard the smile in Augus’ voice. ‘It’s not going to be tough to convince you to do that again. In a week’s time, when your throat is whole, all you’re going to remember is how good it felt at the end, when you were blacking out and coming at the same time.’

Gwyn shivered at the words, and then a small laugh hiccoughed out of his lungs, hurting on its way out. His body was ridiculous – even now, with the pain, was only remembering how good that had felt. Augus was right, in a week’s time, it would be filed on his list of ‘let’s do that again’ activities.

‘Did you just _laugh?’_ Augus said, incredulous, and Gwyn paused. Nodded.

‘I laugh,’ he muttered.

Augus made a soft sound of scorn and then shifted out from under Gwyn’s head. He pulled him up until Gwyn’s head was resting on the pillows, and then lay alongside him, facing him. He pushed an arm under Gwyn’s arm and then – splaying his fingers on Gwyn’s spine – pulled him forwards. Gwyn was too tired to do anything but go with it. He wouldn’t let himself sleep, but he could let his thoughts drift for a little longer, he could choose not to pit himself against whatever it was that Augus was trying to do.

He moaned softly when Augus licked his way into his mouth. Augus slid his tongue along Gwyn’s so gently that it was startlingly intimate, and Gwyn moved, restless. Augus repeated the gesture and Gwyn moved his arm over, uncertain, and rested it over Augus’ ribs.

Augus withdrew when Gwyn was warm and dazed and sleepy.

‘Kiss me,’ Augus whispered, and Gwyn followed, clumsy, not opening his eyes or bothering with figuring out what he was doing. He had a while to go before he came back to himself again, and until then, he made do with a softer, lazier form of kissing. He pressed his lips to the corner of Augus’ mouth, and then pressed closed lips over Augus’. They were slow, lingering kisses, and they only deepened when Augus opened his mouth on a sigh, and Gwyn parted his lips, dragging them against Augus’ mouth.  

He took Augus’ lips between his own but didn’t deepen the kiss, preferring this because it was sensory and chaste and warm. When Augus shudder-sighed against him, Gwyn smiled. Augus pulled back and Gwyn didn’t bother opening his eyes, pushing his face down into the pillow instead. Augus reached up and tilted Gwyn’s face up, kissing him back, the same closed mouth kisses that Gwyn had offered. Gwyn smiled into them without thinking. This was very nice.

‘Gwyn,’ Augus said, and then traced the curve of Gwyn’s lips with his fingers. It made his skin tingle. ‘Rest.’

‘I am resting,’ Gwyn said, confused.

‘Keep doing it.’

His other arm tightened around Gwyn’s back, and Augus pressed his forehead to Gwyn’s. The hand on his back became fingers stroking, one after the other, tracing the line of his spine. Each one was sure and firm and reassuring, enough that Gwyn’s thoughts scattered outwards again, and he felt a strange, deep calm assert itself over him. He didn’t know how long Augus stroked his back like that, but it was long enough that he forgot about the Kingdom, about his past, about everything except those five lines of sensation and the scent of fresh, clean water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, 'Slow:'
> 
> ‘You probably didn’t get attention like this often, when you were with all those people you helped,’ Gwyn said against Augus’ skin. ‘You focus on them. Maybe you didn’t trust them enough to ask anyway. You seem – honestly – a little surprised, Augus. Are you not used to this?’


	18. Slow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No new tags.
> 
> This chapter is a gentler respite chapter, since we're winding up into the end of act 2 (which finishes at chapter 21), which has a great deal more drama, angst, a life-threatening battle and so forth within. Whee.
> 
> *
> 
> Again, thank you to everyone who is commenting, who has left kudos or subscribed or has bookmarked it for later (er if you want to read it again) and just...you guys, I love you guys. *Kawaii eyes at everyone.*

Gwyn realised that if he didn’t do something about the balance of power in his arrangement with Augus, it would all swing away from him and end up in Augus’ clutches. And it was a simple enough matter, he decided, to make sure that he retained at least some of it.

Gwyn was advising some of his soldiers on possible weapon options, when one of his retired men walked into the weapons room and had seen Gwyn. His face had lit up, he’d cried ‘Fancy seeing you here!’

That was all it took; it made Gwyn remember, viscerally, the soft moan Augus had given, the way he’d opened his eyes and looked at Gwyn and said – with a strange warmth – _Fancy seeing you here._

Gwyn pushed it out of his mind, spent the rest of the day discussing weapons and strategies and ‘remember the battle of...’ and then headed back to his rooms, reaching hungrily for the image in his mind’s eye. He wanted that again. He wanted to see what he could do with it; that slow, measured method that Augus seemed to respond to. It wasn’t something that he was familiar with, but he liked learning new things, and this was something that carried an incentive he wanted – to see Augus disarmed like that. To hear the breath shuddering out of his lungs, the quiet hitches, Gwyn wanted all of it.

But Augus had never volunteered that side of himself. Gwyn decided that if Augus thought ambushing was fair game, then he could do it too.

He waited two days, watching Augus’ movements quietly. He found excuses to be near Augus’ rooms, and he was surprised when Augus didn’t seem to notice. Augus was often so insightful, so calculating, that Gwyn expected he would know immediately what was happening. But after the first day, Gwyn remembered that he’d had more active experience in hunting and stalking, and he wasn’t nearby too often anyway. He could be in a room nearby and Augus would never see him, hopefully not even know he was there.

On the third day, Gwyn waited until late afternoon, when Augus would return from doing whatever he did at the bottom of the lake, and seemed the least aware of his surroundings. A small voice in his head told him that it was not healthy to have invested so much time in this, but Gwyn shoved it away. He was staying on track with the intrigues and conspiracies of the Court, he had visited the King of the Forest and covered his bases there. And _this_ was something he wanted, it was something he thought Augus could want, and it didn’t matter if he couldn’t have it forever, he wanted it now.

Gwyn stepped out from where he’d been hiding, lunged towards Augus and grabbed his wrists first, wary of Augus’ fingers and how unerringly they found pressure points. By the time Augus managed to get his feet underneath him, panicked and disoriented, damp and fresh from the lake, Gwyn was already teleporting them both back to his room.

They landed on his bed, Gwyn pushing Augus down beneath him. It was easy to overpower him, easy to use his full strength. He was straddling his back, wrists gathered up in one hand, the other pushing the side of Augus’ head into the bed. He lowered his head alongside Augus’, scented fear. It awoke a deeper, darker appetite within him, and he pushed that away hard. He’d done enough of that already. He wanted something _else._

‘Surprise,’ Gwyn said. ‘All those times you ambushed me, Augus, it’s not much fun, is it?’

‘I have a book I want to finish,’ Augus said, voice stiff. ‘Just fuck me and get it over with.’

Gwyn felt Augus strain beneath him, try to get some leverage, but he couldn’t get any. After about a minute, he went limp and exhaled a laugh.

‘I really do have a book I want to finish,’ Augus said, and Gwyn looked down at him, wondered how to start. In the past he’d never really had to give much thought to it, but he cared now. He lowered his head, pressed his nose and mouth against Augus’ hair, closed his eyes and focused.

He tilted his head until he could press his lips against the curve of Augus’ ear. He moved his hand so it was cradling the back of Augus’ head, and Augus tensed beneath him.

‘You like slow,’ Gwyn said. ‘I remember.’

Augus tensed further, his wrists twitched in Gwyn’s grip.

‘I want to try,’ Gwyn said. ‘But you won’t let me. That’s never been a problem though, between us, has it?’

‘I can’t wait to see your definition of slow,’ Augus drawled, ‘I bet-’

‘I’m going to tie your wrists,’ Gwyn said. He had no patience for Augus’ quips. ‘I don’t trust your hands. But I’ll tie nothing else. If you fight me, I’ll restrain you properly.’

He surveyed Augus. He dug his fingers into Augus’ shirt and twisted the fabric apart, before tearing it. Augus made a sound of derision beneath him, but nothing else. Augus wasn’t like Gwyn, he wouldn’t strip just because Gwyn asked him to, he didn’t give himself over like Gwyn could. He needed coaxing. But Gwyn couldn’t coax him out of his clothes, not now. He needed both hands to get the shirt off Augus, shifting Augus’ wrists each time. Once he was done, he transferred Augus’ wrists to a single grip again, moving down to his pants. Augus chuckled and made an aborted attempt to shake his head.

‘Yes, I can see how this is very convincing. You-’

‘You know as well as I do that if I ask you nicely, you’ll retaliate. I know a little of you, Augus. I know you don’t go as easily as I do.’

‘Gwyn, I won’t go at all.’

‘We’ll see,’ Gwyn said, as he tugged off Augus’ pants and then dropped those and the shirt off the side of the bed.

He made short work of tying Augus’ wrists, then turned him over onto his back. He pushed his arm underneath him and moved him up the bed so that his head was resting on the pillows, dampening them immediately. Augus watched him, a considering look on his face.

‘You can’t do this,’ Augus said, and Gwyn realised it was less of a protest, and more a statement of fact.

‘That just makes me want to prove you wrong,’ Gwyn said.

‘I give you ten minutes, and I’m being generous,’ Augus said, and Gwyn looked at him, didn’t say anything in reply. It wasn’t worth it. He had to focus.

He shifted so that he was straddling Augus’ hips, keeping the bulk of his weight off him. He didn’t know where to start. He didn’t know what to _do._ This was not something he was familiar with. It was not just about being gentle, it was about being _slow._ He wondered why that was. What it was that made Augus so sensitive to slow and gentle.

He placed his hands flat on Augus’ chest, thinking. When he called forest animals towards him, they needed slow, deliberate movement. He realised his position was wrong. He shifted so that he was alongside Augus. It meant that Augus might find it easier to make an attempt to get away, but Gwyn was alert to that, it wouldn’t work. He moved an arm over Augus’ torso and curled his legs beneath himself, pressing fingertips against Augus’ sternum, listening to that slow thump that was his strange heartbeat. Most fae in their human-form had fairly consistent heartbeats. Augus’ always beat the slow rhythm of a waterhorse.

He picked up his hand and rested it against Augus’ side. After a few seconds he trailed his palm up slowly, feeling the texture of his skin, watching the way it shifted underneath his hand. He ended up palming the side of Augus’ face, Augus was looking at him with something like shock on his features.

‘I don’t know what you like,’ Gwyn said, frustrated with himself. He knew he could make Augus come, but that wasn’t the same as knowing what he _liked_.

‘I’d like to finish my book,’ Augus said, and Gwyn blinked at him.

‘There’s always tomorrow,’ Gwyn said, and Augus’ lips thinned. Gwyn could feel the movement of the muscles beneath his hand. He watched Augus’ mouth and then trailed his thumb over to his bottom lip, tracing the shape of it. He repeated the gesture, slowed it down more than he thought anyone could possibly enjoy, and was surprised when Augus inhaled into it.

Not just gentle, but _slow._

Gwyn kept his thumb on Augus’ mouth and moved the rest of his fingers slowly down Augus’ face, moving over his cheekbone, tracing the hollow beneath, curving down around his jaw. Augus was watching him now, alert and uncomfortable.

He curved his hand down, finding the natural shape of Augus’ neck, before meeting his collarbone. When he trailed the back of his fingertips over that, gooseflesh followed, and Gwyn stared in amazement, and then looked up at Augus only to see a shift in his face, a slow blink, he looked dazed.

_He likes that._

Gwyn did it again, and Augus’ eyes met his. Gwyn watched him, didn’t look away. He felt dizzy, all of a sudden, at all he could try. Augus was hard to read, but there were signs. He caged his responses, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. Gwyn licked his lips, absently, and dragged the flat of his hand down over Augus’ chest, curving the calloused side of his hand over Augus’ nipple. He went _slow._ Halfway through, Augus’ eyelids sank down, as though he wanted to close his eyes.

‘Untie my hands,’ Augus said and Gwyn raised his eyebrows and shook his head. ‘Untie my hands and I’ll tell you when you’re doing something I like.’

‘I can tell when I’m doing something you like,’ Gwyn said, dropping his head down and pressing his lips to Augus’ collarbone while he moved his hand slowly over Augus’ nipple again, hard against his palm. ‘I know you like this.’

He licked a slow stripe over the ridge of Augus’ collarbone, and then gently scraped his teeth over it, and Augus shifted beneath him. It was a minute movement, but Gwyn felt it all the same.

‘I thought you’d hold out longer than this,’ Gwyn breathed against his skin. ‘I thought I’d be doing this for at least ten minutes before you reacted.’

‘I’m not made of stone,’ Augus said quietly. ‘You’ve made your point. Let me go.’

‘You taste good,’ Gwyn said, and as he lowered his mouth again, tongue pressing to his skin, Augus strained at the restraints.

‘ _Gwyn,’_ Augus said, and Gwyn rested his palm flat to Augus’ side again, concerned.

‘I’m not hurting you,’ Gwyn said. ‘Is that the problem? You don’t struggle this much when I hurt you.’

Augus glared at him. Gwyn lifted up until he could lick the underside of Augus’ jaw, and then raised his hand and lightly touched his jaw line.

‘I’ll give you a choice,’ Gwyn said, because he’d prepared for this. ‘You can stay tied up with both hands behind your back. Or I’ll release _one_ hand and tie the other to the bedpost with the scarf that responds only to my touch.’

Augus blinked at him, and Gwyn used the moment to push his fingers up into Augus’ hair, before pressing further over his scalp. Augus closed his eyes, and Gwyn followed the shape of his head until he’d curved fingers across the back of his neck.

‘I don’t want to hurt you,’ Gwyn said, and Augus huffed a breath of laughter.

‘But you will if you have to?’

‘No,’ Gwyn said, forehead furrowing. ‘No. I just don’t want to hurt you.’

Augus watched him carefully as Gwyn let strands of Augus’ hair move through his fingers. The waterweed was stronger than it used to be, greener too. Augus was looking healthier than he had in some time.

‘Do you really want to do this?’ Augus said.

‘I’m doing it, aren’t I?’ Gwyn said, smoothing the flat of his palm down Augus’ ribs.

‘You’re not good at it,’ Augus said, and Gwyn swallowed.

That was the first statement of Augus’ that had gotten to him. He shifted his head so that Augus couldn’t see his expression, which was useless, because the act of doing that meant that Augus knew he’d gotten to him anyway. Gwyn allowed himself a tight smile, a moment of frustration. Then he forced his thoughts back to what he wanted to do. He wanted Augus undone beneath him. He wanted that a great deal.

He turned his head back and didn’t make eye contact again. It wasn’t like Augus wasn’t right.

Gwyn trailed fingertips across Augus’ ribs, moved over abdominal muscles. He thumbed the curve of his left hip, and then slowed the movement down, slowed it further, and Augus made a small sound in the back of his throat. Gwyn shifted down Augus’ body. Augus was half-hard, and Gwyn looked up at Augus, whose cheeks were faintly flushed.

‘Does slow work here too?’ Gwyn said, touching his fingers to the pelt-like pubic hair that slicked black, sparse and straight between his legs. He feathered his fingers through it without touching Augus’ cock. He had to remind himself to be slow, to take his time as he trailed down Augus’ inner thigh, as he followed the curve of musculature and didn’t touch Augus’ cock at all. He moved his fingers back up again, ducked down and cupped his balls, keeping the touch easy, gentle.

A small, fine tremble moved through Augus’ body. That was all, but it was enough.

‘You do like this,’ Gwyn said, pleasure stirring through him. Augus’ lips turned up at the corners.

‘Of course I do,’ Augus said, and Gwyn swallowed. He couldn’t pick Augus’ mood. He seemed uncertain about what was happening, Gwyn supposed he hadn’t given him any reasons to be otherwise. But he wasn’t straining against the restraints anymore, and the fear Gwyn had scented when he’d captured him was no longer sharp, but waning.

‘You look amazing,’ Gwyn said, and then flushed. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Augus’ lips twisted into something like a smile. But he didn’t say anything. Gwyn wondered if he was holding back some insult, then decided it didn’t matter. He wanted more than this too. He thought he might have a chance of getting it. He wasn’t even that hard himself, it easy enough to ignore his own arousal. It moved through him in uncertain waves, like a guttering candle-light.

‘I want you to come,’ Gwyn murmured, beginning to move his hand again. He smoothed it back up over Augus’ torso, arched over him and licked the space where the underside of his jaw met his neck. ‘I want it to happen more than once.’

‘Ambitious,’ Augus said softly, but then bit off a small sound when Gwyn found his nipple again, pressing down with a firm, slow pressure.

‘You probably didn’t get attention like this often, when you were with all those people you helped,’ Gwyn said against Augus’ skin. ‘You focus on them. Maybe you didn’t trust them enough to ask anyway. You seem – honestly – a little surprised, Augus. Are you not used to this?’

‘From you?’ Augus said, amusement twining into his words. Gwyn moved over to Augus’ other nipple, intending to tease it to hardness, but it was already hard. He placed thumb and forefinger against it, lifted up so he could watch Augus’ face. He wanted to know what he liked. He increased pressure slowly, and Augus’ mouth dropped open, his eyes were shut.

‘From anyone?’ Gwyn said, and Augus exhaled audibly. ‘Who would have the patience for this? Is it because your heart-rate is slower than normal? Does the whole world move too fast for you?’

He dropped his head down again and sucked, getting the hang of the speed that Augus liked now. A measured slowness, and it had to be focused. The caresses down his body didn’t do much. But this, sucking and increasing the pressure, this worked. He placed his hand over Augus’ heart. It was beating faster.

‘I don’t know why,’ Augus said, voice unsteady. ‘And no, the whole world doesn’t move too fast for me.’

‘You’re being remarkably candid,’ Gwyn said, lifting his head up. Augus gazed at him.

‘Kiss me,’ Augus said. ‘Slowly.’

Gwyn’s heart-rate picked up again, he felt a flutter of nerves in his chest. He raised up, looked down at Augus’ lips and realised he was hard again. He had to focus. There was so much more he wanted to do. Augus was being so good for him.

‘How long do you think? How long before you snap and fuck me like a ploughman?’ Augus said and Gwyn didn’t know what expression he made in response to that, except that Augus narrowed his eyes, he frowned. ‘But you don’t want that, do you?’

‘I’m trying something new,’ Gwyn said, and Augus blinked at him. ‘You’re right, Augus. I’m not good at this.’

‘Release one of my arms,’ Augus said suddenly. ‘Use the scarf that responds only to your touch.’

Gwyn leaned backwards. He wasn’t sure what to think. But he’d given Augus a choice, hadn’t he? And so he reached for the scarf he’d secreted away beneath his pillows. It was the one he’d used to gag Augus in the beginning, the one he’d first used by accident. When Augus saw it, he stiffened. Gwyn swallowed down words, shoved guilt away. But he couldn’t help but look at Augus as he untied his wrists, couldn’t help but watch carefully as he restrained him by the wrist to the bedpost. He didn’t use a tight knot, he didn’t want to.

His eyes trailed down to Augus’ free hand, now resting against his own torso. But Augus didn’t move his arm, didn’t lash out and find pressure points, didn’t do anything except leave it there. Gwyn was glad to see that his wrists weren’t even red. He’d tried to be more careful with the way he’d tied his wrists this time.

Augus was looking a challenge at him, and Gwyn remembered that he was supposed to be kissing him. He pressed his lips down carefully, keeping his mouth closed, preferring to start like this. Augus seemed to be forward with his kissing; if Gwyn’s mouth was open when Augus began, he slid his tongue into Gwyn’s mouth immediately, it was hypnotic and disarming. But Gwyn wasn’t like Augus. Kissing wasn’t something he did often, though he liked it. And he preferred to ease into it, which – he decided – was probably for the best.

Gwyn opened his mouth and licked at Augus’ top lip. He slid his tongue along the seam of Augus’ lips, not moving his tongue within when Augus’ mouth relaxed, opened. He kissed his bottom lip with closed lips again, and then startled violently when Augus pushed his fingers into Gwyn’s hair. He reared back and Augus’ eyes widened.

‘I don’t want to hurt you either,’ Augus said. ‘Not today.’

Gwyn’s breathing was unsteady. He stared at Augus’ hand.

‘Come back,’ Augus coaxed. ‘Come back.’

‘If you use the pressure points, I’ll tie you up again,’ Gwyn said, and Augus nodded. ‘This is meant to be about you.’

‘Come back,’ Augus said, his voice rich, convincing. Gwyn watched Augus’ hand warily, but Augus simply lowered it alongside himself, palm down. Gwyn came back, expected to see resistance, but there was a sleepiness in Augus’ eyes, something that Gwyn realised was Augus’ desire. He kissed Augus again, working up to sliding his tongue in slowly, coasting over the tip of Augus’ tongue and then pushing beneath it, sucking even as he withdrew.

‘How did you learn you liked this?’ Gwyn said, as he trailed a single fingernail down Augus’ collarbone and Augus shuddered beneath him.

‘Unlike you, I had no problem learning the lay of my body,’ Augus said, humming when Gwyn’s fingernail trailed a spiral over his pectoral that ended up with a scrape over his nipple. At Augus’ words, Gwyn thought back to an earlier time when he’d told Augus to prepare himself, how amazing that had been. And that had been when Augus hadn’t even been doing it the way he wanted to, had been made to rush.

Gwyn slipped his hand beneath the pillows and brought out lubricant. He poured a significant amount on his fingers, and then reached down and tangled them up with Augus’, bringing Augus’ hand up, slicking it with strokes of his own hand. Augus watched amused, but when Gwyn slid his fingers between Augus’ and pressed down while digging his thumb into the centre of Augus’ palm, Augus’ eyes slid sideways and he exhaled audibly.

‘Will you touch yourself?’ Gwyn said, thinking his heart was too big for his chest, that it was beating too fast. The beat was pushing up into his throat, he felt dizzy. ‘Will you?’

‘Where did this side of you come from?’ Augus said, and Gwyn stared at him, hoping he’d say yes, hoping he’d move his hand between his legs. Gwyn realised what Augus had asked, and then felt the corner of one side of his mouth turn up.

‘I don’t know,’ he said. Augus shook his head and then disengaged his hand from Gwyn’s and closed his eyes, tilted his head back into the pillow, exposed his neck in a long arch. He trailed his own fingers down from his abdomen towards his hip, and then swung inwards. His fingers weren’t as calloused as Gwyn’s, weren’t as rough, and he moved them with the precision of someone who had mastered the rapier. Every movement was sure, and Augus didn’t hesitate when he finally slicked two fingertips from the base of his cock up to the tip, and then paused there, waiting.

Gwyn took his opportunity. Using his own slicked fingers, he did the same thing, starting at the base of Augus’ cock from the other side, dragging his fingers upwards, tangling his fingers up with Augus’ as his eyes flew open and his head raised up off the pillows.

‘No, really, _where?’_ Augus said, and Gwyn ducked his head, trailed fingers back down Augus’ cock, then moved sideways, traced the crease of his inner thigh. Augus made a small sound in the back of his throat.

‘You looked amazing, Augus, when you were moving at your own speed,’ Gwyn said roughly. He felt his cheeks flush. It wasn’t in his nature to be open like this. It wasn’t like him to do anything like this at all. But every time he added a layer of touch to Augus’ body, and Augus responded, he couldn’t find it in himself to do anything else.

His fingers were finding their way further down, following the line of response that was Augus’ unsteady breathing. He reached a hand under Augus’ hips and lifted, tracing the seam of Augus’ ass, looking up to see Augus’ throat work on a swallow.

‘Am I going too fast?’ Gwyn asked, and Augus hesitated, then shook his head. Gwyn smiled. ‘Do you still want to read your book?’

‘You think you’re so _clever,’_ Augus breathed, but there was amusement coiled throughout his words, and he seemed...not happy per se, Gwyn didn’t think that was possible with Augus being captive. But he seemed relaxed, at least, and eager. Augus’ index and middle finger curled back down over his cock and moved with a concerted care that made Gwyn unsteady to see it. He looked up and saw Augus’ wrist tied to the bedpost with the scarf, made a decision.

He moved his hands slowly off Augus’ skin, didn’t want to rush, and then reached up and touched his fingers to the knot at Augus’ wrist. Augus watched him, surprised, as the scarf fell away and Gwyn shoved it under the pillow. He kept a lot of things under his mass of pillows. Books, spare parchment, lubricant, whatever he thought he might need later.

Augus flexed his newly released hand and then placed it on Gwyn’s arm. The touch was a shock of sensation, distracting, and Gwyn’s lips pressed together.

'I find myself wanting to know how far you can take this,’ Augus said, voice deepening. ‘I didn’t know you could hold out like this.’

Gwyn wanted to say; _There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me._ But he couldn’t risk it. There were things that Augus could never find out about him, and besides, Gwyn hadn’t really known this about himself, so it didn’t count anyway.

‘I want to see how abandoned you can get, Augus,’ Gwyn said, moving back down again and curving his palm over Augus’ thigh. ‘I want to know the sounds you make when you’re not measuring them out on purpose. And I would like to be inside you, while I’m doing it.’

Augus swallowed, he blinked at Gwyn. The two fingers around his cock became five, and he curled each one precisely over himself. His cheeks had flushed further.

‘Is that what you want?’ Augus said, and Gwyn licked his lips.

‘That’s all.’

‘It’s not something I find easy to do,’ Augus said, and then his head tilted backwards again as Gwyn eased his hand back under Augus’ hips and dragged the back of his fingers over Augus’ inner thigh, finding heat instead of Augus’ usual lukewarm surface temperature. The backs of his knuckles found the underside of Augus’ balls as he slid his hand beneath and made a slick trail to his entrance.

‘Don’t you?’ Gwyn said, his voice hitting a lower register, the question pulled out of his gut as he watched Augus react to him. ‘I think you’re doing fine.’

‘Don’t get too cocky, Gwyn,’ Augus said, voice even. ‘You hav-’

Augus didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. Gwyn ducked his head down and concentrated, pushing the tip of his finger inside Augus, using a pace far slower than he thought he could, doing something like this. He didn’t stop though, kept up the slow pace, dragging out that initial penetration into the minutes, until he couldn’t push any further inside. Augus was hot around him. When Gwyn looked up his mouth went dry. Augus’ mouth was hanging open, his hand had fallen off his cock at some point and he was digging fingers into his skin. Gwyn flexed his finger, stretched it backwards and then forwards again, and Augus breathed out a sharp exhale that caught in his throat.

‘I think I’m getting exactly what I want,’ Gwyn said, his own body flushing as he watched Augus. ‘Do you want more?’

‘Fuck, what do you think?’ Augus snapped, and Gwyn smiled.

‘Are you sure?’ he said, and Augus tightened around his finger, he lifted his head and glared balefully at him. But when he saw Gwyn’s expression, his face cleared and he looked oddly vulnerable. Gwyn crooked his finger inside of him, and Augus blinked in response, his nostrils flared.

‘I’m sure,’ Augus said, and Gwyn nodded to himself. He had to concentrate. If he got too caught up in Augus’ reactions, he was going to end up coming against the bed, and he wanted to be inside of Augus before that happened.

He shifted so that he was comfortable and began a slow back and forth rhythm, withdrawing more quickly than he entered, and grinding his knuckles against Augus when he was deep again. He rested his forehead on Augus’ hip as he concentrated, and sometimes looked up to see Augus’ fingers moving on himself; small, incidental movements that lacked focus. They were both concentrating on what Gwyn was doing.

Time passed, and Gwyn found it relaxing listening to Augus’ breathing, focusing on the way he felt. He pushed back in with two fingers this time, felt Augus stretch around him, went even slower than the first time he’d entered.

Augus whimpered. Gwyn swallowed at hearing the sound, kept up the slow pace, and Augus shivered beneath him. Gwyn remembered this. He remembered this from when Augus had been riding him. He didn’t think it was possible, but Augus was close, he was sure of it. And Gwyn was hard, but he wasn’t done yet, he wanted to see how far he could take this, he wanted to make sure the first time that he tried it, he did well. He wanted Augus to come with his fingers inside him. Wanted him to come again, after that.

_Ambitious,_ Gwyn thought, thinking of how Augus had mocked him with the word earlier.

When he couldn’t push his fingers in any further, he curled them upwards and bit his lip. He’d thought about how he would do this – it embarrassed him at the time to imagine it, but now he was just curious. He aimed a slow and steady press up into Augus’ prostate, and Augus tensed around him, a rough cry was torn from his throat.

‘ _Fuck.’_

Gwyn smiled down at Augus’ skin and released, then repeated the gesture, resisting the urge to push himself down into the blankets. He had to _focus._ It was difficult, Augus sounded undone already. His fingers had tightened around his cock, though they weren’t moving. Gwyn saw precome leaking from the tip and he dropped his mouth down to Augus’ hip, scraped his teeth over skin, tasted a thin layer of sweat.

_I am good at this,_ he thought, and then his thoughts were dashed out of his head when Augus gripped Gwyn’s hair with his other hand. The grip was hard, then softened, smoothing out and massaging at Gwyn’s scalp. It was good, it sent fingers of sensation through him. It was distracting. Gwyn couldn’t help the small sound that came in response to that touch.

‘You can’t,’ Gwyn said, twisting his head out of Augus’ grip. He looked up at Augus’ flushed face, the spark in his eyes. ‘It’s...I need to concentrate.’

He was surprised to see that Augus looked disappointed. But when he flexed his fingers, withdrew them and slowly stretched out Augus’ entrance, Augus’ eyes drifted shut and he bit his lower lip, head dropping back to the pillows.

‘I want you to come,’ Gwyn said. He wished he had Augus’ finesse for words, but he only had statements, the truth. ‘Most people would want me to speed up, but you don’t, do you? You kept up that same maddening pace when you were riding me all the way through to the end, and it made you spill. So I think...if I do the same thing, now, you will come around my fingers.’

‘You don’t want to be inside me?’ Augus said, and Gwyn mouthed Augus’ hipbone, started that slow, inexorable pace again.

‘Yes, very much,’ Gwyn said against his skin, and Augus moaned. ‘But you can come a second time, can’t you? If I go slowly enough, you can?’

‘Can _you_ though? Go slowly enough?’ Augus said, and then he laughed behind thinned lips. ‘Never mind.’

‘I like it when you’re wrong,’ Gwyn said, a wave of pleasure moving through him.

Augus said nothing else, and Gwyn went back to concentrating. He had to look away from Augus’ face, it was too arousing and he wouldn’t last if he saw the way he bit at his lip, the way his hair was spreading into messy tangles behind him. The sounds that Augus made compensated a little, but Gwyn wished he could see everything and not have to worry about coming himself. Besides, he didn’t think it would be great if he came just from Augus’ reactions alone, the feel of him snug around his fingers, the sight of Augus’ fingers on his own cock.

Gwyn focused on rhythm, he focused on pressing his index finger up into Augus’ prostate as he slid in and out again. Augus’ breathing was ragged, unsteady, far faster than usual. Gwyn slid his hand out from underneath Augus’ hips and reached up with his hand and placed it flat on Augus’ chest and felt his heartbeat, a fast thump nothing like his resting beat.

He trailed his hand back down, kept the movement slow, and then curled his fingers around Augus’ hand where it rested on his cock, briefly, before moving up and smoothing his palm over the tip of him, catching the sensitive skin with the roughness of his palm.

The sound that broke out of Augus’ mouth was wet and jagged. It was followed immediately by a gasp, another, and then Gwyn’s eyes flew open when Augus clenched hard around his deeply pressed fingers, when the first spurt of liquid heat landed in the palm of his hand and dripped back down over Augus’ cock. Augus’ back bowed into a taut arch, forcing Gwyn’s wrist down painfully into the bed, his mouth open as he drew in breath after breath of air. It was the most abandoned Gwyn had ever seen him, and when he flexed his fingers inside Augus, the cry that followed drew a corresponding groan out of Gwyn.

He didn’t withdraw his fingers from Augus, and he caught as much of Augus’ come as he could on his palm. He looked up and watched, not wanting to miss anything. The hand that Augus had held around his cock had fallen to his thigh, it was digging into skin again. His other hand was twisted up the blankets.

Augus slumped back to the bed, mouth still open, inhaling audibly, eyes closed. A sheen of sweat had broken out over his entire body. His eyelashes were a dark smudge against his face, his bottom lip was darker where he’d bitten at it. Gwyn could see his pulse thumping away in his neck.

Gwyn looked at the oil-slick shine of Augus’ come on his fingers. It was white, but the green sheen on it altered its appearance depending on how the light hit it. He raised his palm to his mouth and licked the thickest patch of it away. It was salty and muddy against his tongue. He tasted the sharpness of bitter herbs and a richness beneath that, it was like putting the landscape of a lake inside of his mouth. He licked at his palm again and then looked up, abashed, when Augus swore. He’d forgotten that Augus liked this.

Augus was staring right at him, and then he smirked.

‘Gwyn, you are _filthy.’_

Gwyn said nothing, but pressed his middle and index finger deep into his own mouth and licked away the come. Augus couldn’t look away. He closed his eyes when his tongue caught between the middle of his fingers. He was oversensitive, strung too tight. He didn’t know if he’d be able to last inside of Augus, but he wanted it, he wanted it with the same focus he had when he went after a new skill in weaponry, and he hoped that would be enough.

He stopped when his hand was clean, rested wet fingertips against Augus’ body.

‘I never took clients on for more than a day or two,’ Augus said suddenly, not looking away from Gwyn’s face. His hand lifted from the blankets and he traced Gwyn’s forearm with his index finger, and Gwyn shivered, moved his forearm away, because he was close, because he had a goal in mind. Augus only reached forwards and repeated the gesture, staring a challenge at Gwyn.

‘Every now and then, someone would come, some fae, and I’d want to know what it would be like if they stayed longer. A week. If I had them for a week. Two.’

Gwyn’s heart started pounding, he felt his eyes widen.

‘You were one of those fae.’

His heart did something painful, and Gwyn winced. He closed his mouth around the words, _Don’t lie to me._ But Augus’ forehead furrowed, he narrowed his eyes. The fingertip against his forearm became fingers curving warm over wrist, sweat damp.

‘It surprised me, at the time. Because all I knew of you was your family’s reputation – both the one they maintained themselves, and the one that floated around in the dark, of their...proclivities. Because I knew of your privilege, your upbringing. I thought I did, anyway. And even then I still wanted to see what would happen if I had you longer.’

Gwyn didn’t want to listen to this. Augus sounded serious, forthright, _honest._ But Gwyn couldn’t trust that, he didn’t want the words, couldn’t hear them now.

‘That scares you,’ Augus said, sounding intrigued. ‘Why?’

‘Stop distracting me,’ Gwyn said roughly.

He slowly withdrew one of his fingers, because Augus was tighter around him now. Augus’ forehead furrowed, but he looked like he wanted to continue on the subject. Gwyn couldn’t listen to him. They were words he’d once wanted to hear, but now he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

He took Augus’ hand, the one that had been resting against his cock until the end, and drew it down between his legs. Augus looked confused, and then his eyebrows shot up in realisation as Gwyn shifted Augus’ fingers in his grip so his middle finger was pointing towards his own entrance, so that his other curled fingers were resting in Gwyn’s hand.

‘Will you?’ Gwyn heard himself ask, and Augus nodded silently, eyebrows still high. He slid his middle finger into himself, alongside Gwyn’s, and it was a little awkward, up until the point that Augus slid this tip of his finger over Gwyn’s and Gwyn realised they were doing that _inside_ of Augus. He made a soft, small sound. His forehead dropped forwards again and he exhaled shakily.

‘Copy me,’ Augus rasped, and Gwyn closed his eyes as Augus began to move his finger. He followed the movements with his own, Augus hot and loosening around them both. Augus moved even more slowly than Gwyn did, and it was hard to follow that pace. But the more he focused on it, the less on edge he became, the more he was able to concentrate.

Gwyn lost track of time, only aware that Augus was helping him, that Augus was still gripping his forearm with his other hand, the fingers digging in and releasing, digging in and releasing with the slow movements of his finger.

Augus suddenly hooked his finger around Gwyn’s, stilled all movement, took a shaky breath. Gwyn realised Augus was shaking, realised _he_ was shaking. He lifted his head and Augus was staring up at the ceiling, mouth open. He looked shocked.

‘Augus? Are you alright?’ Gwyn said, and Augus nodded. ‘Are you quite sure?’

Augus laughed breathlessly, his finger tightened around Gwyn’s where it was pressed inside of himself. Gwyn’s wrist ached, it was bent at an odd angle, but he didn’t care. Augus’ finger hooking into his own, it was startling in its intimacy.

‘I think you can drop the formalities when we’re both fucking me with a finger each, don’t you think?’

‘That’s not an answer,’ Gwyn said, pressing his hand into Augus’ ribs, worried that something had gone wrong.

‘I’m alright,’ Augus said. ‘I’m alright.’

He lowered his eyes to Gwyn’s. There was certainty there. Augus still looked surprised at something, but he also looked like he didn’t want to stop, and a moment later he unhooked his finger from Gwyn’s and slid it out of himself, raising his hand to his half-hard cock.

‘This,’ Augus said. ‘This is fast for me.’

Gwyn realised he was referring to how quickly he’d gotten aroused again, and it took all his concentration not to simply thrust his finger in roughly and _take._ He had to press his forehead into Augus’ hip, breathed slowly through his nose. He was doing well, it thrilled through him, he was doing well and he was doing well for _Augus._ He almost laughed at himself, but was too busy keeping his wrist and finger still. His face burnt hot.

He pressed his index finger back into Augus, slid it in at the speed that Augus was moving at, recited map locations in his mind because it was getting harder to go at this slow pace. Inside him was the light, the combustion, the need to _take._ He pushed hard when he couldn’t push any further, and Augus grunted. Gwyn winced, he had to focus. He had to focus.

He stopped all movement. His eyes flew open when he felt fingers tousling his hair, they moved down and massaged at his scalp.

‘You’re trying so hard, aren’t you?’ Augus said, and Gwyn swallowed.

‘I can do this,’ Gwyn said, and Augus traced the shape of Gwyn’s ear. It was dividing Gwyn’s focus, and his throat closed around a small, helpless sound. He started to move his head away, but fingers snagged into his curls and tightened.

‘Wait,’ Augus said. ‘Just wait.’

‘I need to concentrate,’ Gwyn said, and Augus trailed his fingers down to the base of Gwyn’s skull, rubbed at the back of his neck. When he dragged his fingers up through Gwyn’s hair again, a line of fire seemed to follow each one of his fingertips, and Gwyn moaned. ‘Augus.’

‘Start moving your fingers again,’ Augus whispered. Gwyn’s eyes squeezed shut, and he bit the inside of his lip, sliding his fingers out of Augus slowly, coming back even slower. He pressed up into Augus’ prostate as he went and Augus hissed, sensitive.

Gwyn tasted blood on the inside of his mouth and realised that he’d bitten through skin. He tried moving his head away from Augus’ hand again, only to find his hair caught up in fingers. He licked at the blood inside his lip, and Augus raised himself up on his elbow suddenly.

‘Why are you bleeding?’ he said, and Gwyn pressed his lips together. Of course. Augus was a predatory waterhorse, he’d be able to smell the blood.

‘I bit myself,’ Gwyn said, feeling like an idiot. It was already starting to heal, and the pain was minor. He was surprised Augus had scented it at all.

‘Concentrating?’

Gwyn didn’t answer.

‘Come here,’ Augus said suddenly, tugging on his hair. ‘Come here. Come up. Let me taste it.’

Gwyn breathed out a shallow laugh and looked up, only to see a hungry, alert look on Augus’ face. Gwyn hesitated, then – keeping his fingers still where they rested inside of Augus – he moved up the bed carefully and let Augus drag his head down. Augus slipped his tongue through Gwyn’s lips, skated his tongue along Gwyn’s, looking for the wound. When he didn’t find one, he pressed his tongue carefully in the space between Gwyn’s front teeth and the inside of his mouth, stroked his tongue along the sting of it.

_Augus, this isn’t helping._

Gwyn was hard, he didn’t think he could last much longer. He had no idea how much time has passed; half an hour? An hour? More? Just moving his fingers in and out of Augus had taken a long time.

Augus sucked hard on his bottom lip and Gwyn leaned backwards, flushed.

‘It’s disturbing, how much you enjoy doing that,’ Gwyn said, and Augus smiled lazily up at him.

‘As disturbing as how much you like it?’

Gwyn shivered, and then moved backwards hurriedly when Augus reached down between his legs for his cock.

‘Will you stop?’ Gwyn said, and Augus smirked, a mischievous light in his eyes.

‘I like you like this. I want to play.’

‘If you don’t keep your hands to yourself, I will tie them up again,’ Gwyn said stiffly, and Augus pursed his lips and then rolled his eyes.

‘If you say so _.’_

Gwyn scowled. He was losing control of the situation, decided to do something about it. He touched his tongue to Augus’ collarbone and traced a line along it. He moved down further, licking a line down the middle of Augus’ sternum, and moving slowly sideways to place his mouth over Augus’ left nipple, licking at it, running his front teeth over it. Augus’ chest heaved, and Gwyn repeated the gesture before moving down again _._ He licked his way down the ridge of Augus’ left hip, before nosing at the fine, flat hair between his legs. Augus was still, Gwyn could feel the weight of his attention, could tell Augus was watching him.

Gwyn pressed his face into Augus’ half-hard cock, and then instead of licking it, he licked the back of Augus’ hand where it rested over himself. He pressed his tongue between Augus’ fingers, licked an inexorable, slow path to the tip of him, and then slowly drew the head of him into his mouth.

Augus exhaled slowly, audibly. His whole body shifted.

Gwyn sucked with the same increasing pressure he’d used when he’d pressed his fingers up into Augus’ prostate. And by the time he was sucking hard, Augus’ hips had arched up, he was completely hard. Gwyn closed his eyes in relief, but he’d have to stop this soon, because going down on Augus was one of those things that wouldn’t keep his mind off coming.

Still, he didn’t stop straight away. He licked his way back down towards Augus’ hand. He curled his tongue around Augus’ thumb. Augus moved his thumb and pressed it questioningly against Gwyn’s bottom lip. Gwyn realised what he was asking and opened his mouth wider, knowing he shouldn’t, but unable to help himself. Augus slowly moved the finger inside Gwyn’s mouth, and then pushed a sensual pressure into his tongue. Gwyn moaned thickly, closed his mouth, laved the pad of Augus’ finger.

‘Fuck,’ Augus said quietly. ‘ _Fuck._ Will you hurry up and fuck me again?’

Gwyn moved his head backwards, and Augus’ thumb hung onto the back of his teeth until Gwyn moved away properly.

‘It’s too soon,’ Gwyn said, and Augus frowned at him.

‘It isn’t. I said this was happening fast for me. You’re going to get what you want, Gwyn.’

Gwyn realised what he meant. He reached for the lubricant again, opening the vial with one hand. Augus stopped him, a hand on his wrist.

‘There’s enough,’ Augus said.

Gwyn screwed the cap back on the vial and dropped it. He withdrew his fingers slowly, arched over Augus, his heart pounding up a fierce and painful tattoo in his chest. He lifted Augus’ leg by curling his hand underneath the knee, pulling it up and out, and Augus closed his eyes, his head thumped back into the pillows. His hair was a mess.

Gwyn pressed himself against Augus’ entrance, dug his fingers into the flesh of Augus’ leg. His instincts screeched at him to take, but he treated them with the same callousness that he treated the light inside of himself. He shoved at his instincts hard, he bit the inside of his lip again as he pushed into Augus slowly. Not as slow as when Augus had sheathed himself on Gwyn that first time, but slowly nonetheless.

He took his time, sensations of heat, tightness, friction all around him. He was shivering with fine tremors that moved rhythmically through him on every inhale. His breath was shaking. But he went _slow._

The reward was Augus’ silence being broken by a rasped moan, and then a quiet cry. He sounded disarmed, and Gwyn opened his eyes as he pushed in, almost seated now, to see Augus’ head turned to the side, his own green eyes squeezed shut and a tear trailing across the bridge of his nose. His eyebrows were pinched together, he’d sunk his fingers into the blankets. As Gwyn pushed deeper, Augus’ mouth dropped open on a sudden, sharp inhale, and he cried out again.

_I don’t have a chance in hell of lasting,_ Gwyn realised. He couldn’t look away from Augus, thought it a miracle that he managed to keep up his slow pace until he bottomed out, hips pressed snugly against Augus’. He paused, lowered his lips down until he could press them against Augus’ cheek.

‘Looks like it feels good,’ Gwyn said, and Augus moaned out a jagged rip of sound as Gwyn ground his hips into Augus. ‘Does it?’

‘Smugness...is not an attractive quality in you,’ Augus said, his voice rough and unstable.

‘Now that I’ve done it once, I have to do it again,’ Gwyn managed, pressing closed lips to Augus’ eyelid. ‘Will I have to tie you up first, every time?’

Augus said nothing, but Gwyn supposed that wasn’t surprising, as he was starting to withdraw again. He only moved a few inches back, before pressing in slowly, slower than the first time. He exhaled at the same time as Augus, their breaths matching up, both coarse and following the line of Gwyn’s movement.

Gwyn stopped moving entirely when he felt a hand snag up into his hair again. Augus’ other hand was moving slowly between his legs, fingers wrapped around his own cock. Augus’ fingers tangled in Gwyn’s hair, scratched over his scalp, traced his hairline. Gwyn whimpered.

_‘Augus,’_ Gwyn warned, and Augus turned his face to Gwyn’s.

‘It’s too late for you to tie me up again, and you know it,’ he breathed. ‘And I’m unexpectedly _close.’_

Augus arched his hips up into Gwyn and cried out again, repeated the movement, and then sealed his lips over Gwyn’s and licked his way in, pressing his hips up, increasing the friction. Gwyn cried out into Augus’ mouth, because he wanted to last, but the distractions were piling up on top of each other and he could barely begin to push any of them away.

Augus drew his mouth back, looked at him, but Gwyn couldn’t return his gaze, couldn’t look, had to keep his eyes closed. The hand in his hair became fingers caressing his neck, then fingertips stroking the hollow where collarbone met neck.

‘You’ve done so well,’ Augus said. ‘Look at you. You have no idea...how close I am, do you?’

Gwyn couldn’t reply, couldn’t form words. He lowered his head to the pillows beside Augus’ head, and met damp hair and wetness. Augus stroked his hand down his chest, and then further still, pressing into the coil of heat in his abdomen. Gwyn whimpered, the sound cracking high and desperate.

_‘Fuck,’_ Augus breathed again, and Gwyn ground his hips in response, unable to manage much else. Augus’ breath hitched beneath him, and he started to say something, and then dissolved into a mix of surprised laughter, sobbing, and Gwyn’s eyes snapped open when he felt Augus coming against his torso.

_‘Gwyn,’_ Augus cried out, pushy and demanding and wrought. The hand at his torso wrapped hard around his ribs, pulled him close and Augus’ hips stuttered against his and Gwyn stared at Augus, couldn’t stop staring, and felt the shock of the moment steal over him. He’d done it, he’d actually managed it, and Augus was a mess beneath him, gasping for breath and it sent heat racing through him, and yet...

‘Gwyn,’ Augus gasped. ‘Gwyn, will you _come_ already? Stop showing off.’

Gwyn opened his mouth to say he wasn’t, he didn’t know what had happened, when Augus tightened around him and released his own cock in order to press his fist hard into Gwyn’s pelvis.

Gwyn shouted out as something unlocked inside of him, a knot unravelled with a sharp wash of pleasure that verged on pain. His arm buckled and his weight fell on top of Augus as he came hard, each shudder matched with sounds that fell out of his mouth on each rushed exhale. Everything was heat around him, and his mind had flown to pieces. It was electricity racing through him, spending up the remainder of his energy, wringing him out and leaving his body overheated and unsteady.

There was movement around him as he started to come down, as the spasms of his hips settled into long shudders. Augus’ legs had bent around his hips and were pressing into him, anchoring him. The arm that had been trapped beneath them both was looped around Gwyn’s lower back. Augus’ other hand was tugging gently on individual curls in his hair. First one, then another.

Gwyn realised his entire weight was pressed into Augus’ body and he lifted up to roll over. Augus’ arm tightened around his back, his legs pressed closer.

‘Wait,’ Augus said, repeating the command from earlier. ‘Will you just wait?’

Gwyn slumped back. Waiting sounded good. He was exhausted.

‘Do you know how long you held out?’ Augus said, and Gwyn sighed when he felt Augus’ hand trailed up his back, tracing over his spine.

‘Because I was paying attention to the _time,’_ Gwyn muttered.

‘You weigh about as much as a mountain,’ Augus said, and Gwyn laughed before he could help it.

‘I _just_ tried to get off you, and now you’re complaining about-’

‘Kiss me again,’ Augus said, and then tightened his hand in Gwyn’s hair and dragged his mouth up. He waited, and Gwyn pressed slightly open lips to Augus’ mouth, raising himself upright so he could bracket bent arms around Augus’ face, careful not to catch Augus’ hair with his arms. Gwyn laughed again into Augus’ mouth when he realised how stupid it was that Augus was complaining about his weight immediately after Gwyn had gone to roll off him.

Augus pressed his head back into the pillow and stared at him, and Gwyn smiled.

‘What?’

‘Nothing,’ Augus said, but he was staring so intently that Gwyn flushed. He bit uncertainly at his lower lip, but when Augus smiled back at him, he relaxed a little. It didn’t even look like a mischievous smile. Just an unguarded smile. He lowered his head and kissed it.

‘I am good at this,’ Gwyn whispered against his mouth, and Augus nodded. Gwyn ducked his head beside Augus’ and hid the smile that followed that nod. He didn’t want Augus to know that he cared so much, but he couldn’t help the way he felt at the smile he’d seen on Augus’ face.

‘What’s your book about?’ Gwyn said suddenly, and Augus tugged at Gwyn’s hair. The curls bounced back again, and Gwyn made a noise when it made his scalp itchy. Augus immediately threaded his hand through Gwyn’s hair properly, and Gwyn sighed. He was starting to see why waterhorses liked that so much.

‘Gwyn, I don’t care what my book is about. Kiss me again.’

Gwyn lifted his head and pressed closed lips against Augus’ mouth. He wondered if Augus minded that he kissed like this, but Augus said nothing, only dragged his own lips against Gwyn’s and sighed through his nose.

‘Alright, get off me, you weigh a ton,’ Augus said, pushing, and Gwyn went with the motion. Augus didn’t even wince as Gwyn withdrew fully, and Gwyn rolled onto his side, blinked sleepily at Augus.

‘You look very pleased with yourself,’ Augus said, and Gwyn closed his eyes, yawning.

‘You would be too.’

‘Yes, it is quite an achievement, going from premature ejaculation to joining the ranks of those of us who can last more than a minute, isn’t it?’

Gwyn reached out blindly and thumped Augus hard on whatever body part was in reach. He hit his arm, and Augus grunted. Augus grabbed his wrist as he withdrew it, and Gwyn tensed, braced himself for the pain of pressure points. But instead Augus drew his hand back to the bed and dragged his fingernail across the curve of Gwyn’s palm.

‘You should expect retaliation for this afternoon, at some point,’ Augus said, promising, and Gwyn’s eyes opened.

‘Excuse me?’

Augus grinned at him, and Gwyn tried to ignore the way his heart started thumping in response to that. But Augus didn’t say anything else, and Gwyn closed his eyes again. His thoughts started to drift, and he was surprised when he felt Augus move closer and push and arm underneath his and then curl around his back. The contact was warm, pleasant. It made something catch in his heart, but he didn’t want to think about that. He leaned forwards and pressed his forehead to Augus’.

It felt good, he decided. The real world could wait. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter (an Augus perspective!), 'Jealousy:'
> 
> ‘Why’s he so healthy, anyway? That’s...’ the meaner one trailed off and looked Augus over again. His eyes widened. ‘That’s no underfae. Gwyn, what the _fuck?’_


	19. Jealousy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No new tags. Though I guess I could warn for possessiveness, but come on, in _this_ fic, that is hardly the least surprising thing that's happened.
> 
> *
> 
> A massive, massive _thank you_ to everyone who has been leaving comments, kudosing, subscribing, bookmarking and just reading in general!

Augus needed more hands. It had been something of a boost to his confidence when – as only underfae – he’d managed to rip Efnisien’s jaw clean off his body, in human-form at that. But now that he was Capital fae, he felt he was letting the class down. The two soldiers were getting the upper hand, and quickly.

He’d made an error. Gwyn’s rooms were hardly ever visited by anyone, and the inner circles of rooms had never seen any visitors at all. Augus kept his guard up in the two outer circles, but relaxed it otherwise. He should have asked Gwyn what sort of permissions he had on his palatial rooms, but since Gwyn changed them depending on his mood, that wouldn’t have been much use. Not only that, but they were clearly Gwyn’s soldiers, wearing his colours and everything. That ridiculously unsuitable cream clothing and armour that showed up bloodstains all the better.

No wonder Gwyn liked it so much.

Augus had been walking into the room through one entrance, intending to take a shortcut to the workshop of the trows, and they’d entered through the other. Augus immediately felt his blood run cold as the soldiers took in his appearance, recognised him. He didn’t know the soldiers individually, enough of them died that it hadn’t been worth keeping track of them when he’d been Unseelie King, but he recognised the build of trained, higher class fae. And if no one knew he was up in these rooms, then it probably looked like he didn’t belong in the first place...

Augus ducked quickly out of the room and bolted, hoping that Gwyn’s inner room, the one where Augus had access (or at least _had_ access, who knows if Gwyn had changed the permissions since) was one banned to others. He heard the footsteps of them running after him and grimaced. Why was he always being chased by Gwyn or his soldiers? Did they all go to some sort of demented school for hunting? Augus rolled his eyes as he ran and turned, fleet-footed, down a corridor. Of course they likely did. Gwyn probably ran it.

He had no idea where he was going, and one of the soldiers was keeping up with him. Who knew what type of fae he was, but he was fast.

Augus turned hurriedly into what he thought was a corridor, but was simply one of Gwyn’s long, strange moss rooms. There was no door to slam and hold closed behind him. There was no way of contacting Gwyn. He looked around for another exit but there was none, and the soldiers entered.

‘I don’t know how you got free, but it’s not going to last l-’

‘Oh, _please,’_ Augus said, thinking quickly. ‘Look at me. Look at how healthy I look. Look at _what_ I’m wearing. Do I look like someone who’s been wasting down in a cell for almost a year? Exercise some critical judgement, if battle hasn’t bashed it out of your thick skulls.’

They stared at him, and the thinner, meaner looking one on the right gave Augus the once over, and realisation dawned on his features. Accompanying the realisation, there was a lascivious appreciation.

 _Excellent, soldier number two looks like he could be a rapist. This is_ just _what I wanted, instead of being murdered._

Augus flexed his fingers, glad for the fact that the soldiers weren’t fully kitted out in armour, but only wearing shoulder plates anchored with straps across their chests. Perhaps they’d been in the middle of training and needed Gwyn for something. It didn’t matter. Augus was Capital fae now and he was going to rip them apart.

He smiled at them. He liked this part. The part where they thought he was outnumbered, and they had no idea what he was capable of.

Except now it was twenty minutes later and Augus was certain that he was fighting for his life. It turned out that Gwyn’s soldiers actually did get something approximating decent training, and he needed more _hands._ He could only use pressure points on one person at a time, compulsions weren’t working, he didn’t have the right build to overpower two trained soldiers at the same time. He was somewhat grateful that moss walls were at least soft. He’d bruise _less_ at any rate.

Augus groaned as the thinner one – though certainly not _thin –_ dug his fingers into Augus’ waist as Augus temporarily immobilised the stupid one with jabs to the neck and carotid. Augus knew he was going to be thrown into the wall even as it happened, and he landed hard. He gritted his teeth, reaching out and sending waterweed around the ankles of the one who’d thrown him, tripping him and sending him skidding across the floor. Which, unfortunately, gave the other soldier enough time to regroup and push Augus back into the ground.

Augus managed to find pressure points with one hand before his wrist was bent back and he bit his teeth around the shriek of pain that tried to claw its way out of his throat. Another hand slid sickeningly around his front, slid underneath his shirt, dug in hard at his torso. Augus squeezed his eyes shut, ignored the galloping of his heart and twisted to get some leverage, managed to wrench of his hands free.

He reached down and broke two of the fingers trying to hold onto his abdomen. His teeth grew sharper. He felt them scrape against each other, then turned and bit hard at the nearest piece of flesh that he could reach. His teeth were sharp enough to shear through muscle and ligament, and crest hard into bone. Augus winced as blood flooded into his mouth, ignored the shout of pain, spat out the hot fluid and kicked out with all his strength.

He had no idea who he was hurting anymore, it didn’t matter. He raked back with his claws. A hand hooked hard over his scalp and he reached out with his free arm to brace himself, only barely minimising the impact as his head was slammed hard into the ground.

 _I swear, Augus, if you’ve survived everything you’ve survived so far, only to die_ now...

There was a boot on his ankle. Augus had no idea when that had happened, but he could feel the bones grinding together. Another hand tugged meaningfully on the back of his pants. He used the hand bracing himself to reach back and break the wrist, only to have his head slammed back into the ground again. He gasped, dazed, found it harder to coordinate his limbs. A horrible wave of weakness moved through him and he growled low. That was too familiar. That sickening weakness felt too close to what dropping from King to underfae felt like.

He threw his strength into turning around, and his eyes widened when it didn’t work.

_Fuck._

He poured away his awareness of the fist tightening in his hair, of the headlock, and wondered if he’d need to transform. It went against his instincts to transform in view of others. If anyone except Ash or his prey saw him change form, it was like a shrieking wrongness that cascaded all the way through his nerves. Even considering it set him on edge.

But it _might_ work. He’d rather deal with that than being dead.

Though the last time he’d felt pushed to this point, the last time the Nightmare King had pushed him to _that,_ it hadn’t worked. Augus opened his mouth on a cry of frustration, he-

‘WHAT’S GOING ON HERE?’

Augus closed his eyes in relief. He’d never been more glad to hear Gwyn’s voice. He mentally slapped himself when he realised what he’d just thought.

‘Want to join in?’ One of the soldiers said, and Augus almost laughed.

There was a commotion behind him, and both the soldiers were dragged off him. Augus pushed himself around clumsily so that he was sitting, leaning heavily on one of his arms. He didn’t feel quite ready to brave standing yet. His eyes widened when he saw Gwyn had both of them up against the wall, an arm at both of their throats.

_Maybe if I was King and cared about unrealistic upper body strength, I’d have been able to do that._

Gwyn stared at them for so long that Augus was almost certain that he’d forgotten how to talk. And then he pulled the larger one away from the wall by the straps keeping his shoulder plate on, and punched him so hard that he collapsed to the ground.

‘Hey!’ The other soldier shouted. ‘ _Gwyn!’_

‘You’ve realised, haven’t you?’ Augus said, staggering upright and bracing himself back against the wall.

_Probably too soon for standing._

‘Realised _what?’_ Gwyn said abruptly. Augus’ eyes widened. Gwyn hadn’t realised anything at all, he was just angry. Gwyn likely couldn’t let the soldiers live. Soldiers like these told their friends everything, they gossiped. The fact that Augus was aboveground, healthy, accessing the inner circles of Gwyn’s palatial rooms? That would not go down well. Especially added to the fact that the Seelie Court was not so much a Court, as a seething underbelly of plots that Gwyn spent most of his time dealing with, on top of everything else.

Gwyn turned his attention away from Augus, and back to the soldier still standing against the wall.

‘You’re both off my army,’ Gwyn said, voice clipped. He didn’t even turn around as the other soldier pushed himself upright off the floor, a hand over what looked like a broken jaw.

‘For _this?’_ The one against the wall said.

‘For _this?’_ Gwyn repeated, his voice icy. ‘You could be put to death for touching the King’s property. The old laws still apply here.’

_Now follow that on to its natural conclusion, Gwyn. Because you can’t let them go. Also call me property again, and we’ll see who owns who._

‘Why’s he so healthy, anyway? That’s...’ the meaner one trailed off and looked Augus over again. His eyes widened. ‘That’s no underfae. Gwyn, what the _fuck?’_

The other one worked his jaw. It made a slight crunch, but the soldier ignored it. Augus pursed his lips, impressed. The stupid one had an impressive pain tolerance. Fingers broken, jaw broken, still looked like he wanted to say something.

‘You’ve been brainwashed,’ he said, the words rumpled but clear, and Augus sighed. People threw that word around like they knew what it meant, but they didn’t. ‘Well, Uther, if we’re off the army, might as well fuck off.’

He staggered towards the only entrance, and Augus immediately moved to block him, ignoring the way his ankle protested the movement, the way his brain felt too big for the skull that encased it.

‘Well he obviously _wants_ it,’ the stupid soldier said, exasperated. Augus looked past him, caught Gwyn’s eye.

‘Who will they tell? How many? Because you know how soldiers like to talk, yes?’ Augus said. He stepped forwards and offered a grim smile to Gwyn, before looking back at his prey. It was one against one now. _Easy._

He rammed his hand up into the soldier’s nose, sending cartilage back into his brain. The soldier’s eyes went comically wide, before his face stilled and his mouth opened spasmodically. He dropped to the ground. Even so, he wouldn’t be dead completely until his spinal cord was severed. He was Court status, they came back from an injury like that. Augus leant over him and summoned his waterhorse strength, gripping his head between both hands and wrenching his neck to the side.

The other soldier was staring at him in shock.

Augus grimaced when he realised Gwyn was too.

_I suppose I did just kill one of his precious soldiers. Not like he doesn’t lose enough of them in the field._

The other soldier pushed past Gwyn, ran and bowled Augus backwards back into the floor. Augus went down heavily, reached up to find pressure points only to be distracted by two punches to the gut. Even he wasn’t immune to being winded. Augus choked.

_Solar plexus. Damn._

He struggled weakly as his diaphragm refused to cooperate with his attempts to find air. He snarled when the soldier drew back the heel of his hand, ready to smash it into his face, ready to return the favour that Augus had doled out to his comrade.

Augus saw Gwyn enter his field of vision, and then the soldier was picked up bodily and thrown across the room. Even struggling for breath, Augus pushed himself upright, shocked. Gwyn stalked over to the soldier and lifted him up by the straps of his armour, before throwing him back down to the ground again. The impact was sickening, even through the moss. If the soldier had slammed Augus’ head into the ground with that much force, his skull would have caved in.

Gwyn leaned down with faster reflexes than a man of his size should have been capable of, and broke the fae’s neck quickly. He straightened, breathing heavily, then surveyed the room. His eyes moved from both of the dead bodies, to land squarely on Augus.  

‘First a family member. Now two of my soldiers. You have quite a body trail growing behind you, even just in this Court, Augus.’

Augus stepped back and leaned against the mossy wall. He didn’t want to say, but he was still having trouble catching his breath. Now that both of the soldiers were dead, he was becoming acutely aware of two things. The first was that he’d like to soak in the lake for some time, so the pain would disappear. The second was that Gwyn was looking at him like he was perhaps not as stable as Augus hoped he was.

He cautiously allowed that perhaps killing one of your own men, to save the life of an ex-Unseelie King who was – he grimaced – one of the greatest pariahs the Kingdom had ever known, was probably not reassuring.

Gwyn walked towards him slowly, stepping over the body of his soldier like it was nothing.

‘Did you incite them?’ Gwyn asked, voice as cold as it had been when talking to his soldiers.

Augus stepped away from the wall and gave him a look of disgust _._

'Let’s recall how you thought I provoked Efnisien, and then it turned out that you just have terrible people in your Court. I might survive being fed liver again, but _you_ won’t.’

‘Why did you tell them you were up here for _that?’_

‘Because they thought I was trying to _escape._ Though why they thought I’d come here if that was the case, I don’t know. I realise that being a soldier often requires a lower than impressive intelligence so that you’re all inured to the idea of being slaughtered, but you and your soldiers really are impressively stupid, Gwyn.’

Augus edged sideways when Gwyn got closer, and something dark crept over Gwyn’s face.

‘How far did they get?’ he asked.

Augus ended up circling straight back into a wall, back pressing up against it. Gwyn came up and stood too close, invaded his personal space. Augus resisted the urge to grind his teeth together. Gwyn picked things up too fast for his own good. Gwyn bracketed both of his hands around Augus’ face and then bowed his head, took a deep breath. And Augus, pressed back against the wall, felt the energy in the room shift and ripple.

Gwyn was changing the permissions of the palace _again._

Gwyn should not find that so easy. It wasn’t _easy._ Augus narrowed his eyes, perplexed. It was magic. There was no reason Gwyn should be adept at magic. He’d not trained in anything like magecraft, and it wasn’t supposed to be easy. It wasn’t supposed to be something that one could do simply because they _felt_ like it. Augus had done it once, and then hadn’t touched the permissions again. Even as King, it had taken an absurd amount of energy to spread his mind across the vastness of the Unseelie Kingdom to determine what would be private, who could access what.

Gwyn – finished already – removed one of his hands from the wall and leaned back, looking down Augus’ body, taking in the rumpled clothing.

‘They had no right,’ Gwyn said. ‘Why did you let them see you?’

Augus scowled, and then took a deeper breath when Gwyn placed his hand over his ribs. It was a proprietary touch.

‘I didn’t let-’

‘Be quiet,’ Gwyn said. The words were a command, but the coldness in his voice was gone. Gwyn’s thumb trailed across his shirt, curious.

‘I didn’t think anyone had access to that circle of rooms. I’ve never seen-’

‘Be quiet,’ Gwyn repeated. That quiet certainty in his voice was far more disturbing than when he simply barged into a room and started ordering Augus around. Gwyn’s eyes were hooded, there was a determined look in the paleness of his eyes. Augus watched him carefully. Gwyn’s hand was a possessive, heavy weight against his ribs, unknowingly pressing into bruises that were already there. His other hand hadn’t moved where it rested by Augus’ head.

‘Was it bloodlust?’ Gwyn said. ‘You haven’t hunted anyone in some time. Perhaps you thought – after Efnisien – that you could take them on, kill them. Perhaps you let them see you.’

Augus blinked. That was...a fair strategy. It wasn’t the case, but it was plausible.

When Augus realised that Gwyn was touching him with the same hand that had broken the neck of one of his own soldiers, a small shiver went through him. He decided that he definitely had brain damage. He’d never been one to be taken by displays of brute force in the past, finding himself more easily impressed with skills that required precision; pressure points, the rapier, magic and magery.

Gwyn’s hand trailed up to a rip in the collar of his shirt. He fingered it thoughtfully.

‘They made this part easier for me.’

Gwyn moved his other hand down to Augus’ shirt to hold it in place, then tore hard with his other hand. Augus’ teeth ground together. Gwyn had ripped his shirt apart last time, too. It was a terrible, uncouth habit. The fabric was supposed to be resistant to wear and tear, it was meant to be of a high quality, but under Gwyn’s hands, it ripped like tissue paper.

Gwyn looked down Augus’ torso and then placed his fingers exactly over the points where one of the soldiers had dug fingers into his ribs.

Gwyn pressed his fingers in harder, an increasing pressure that made pain expand through Augus’ side. He hissed, glared at Gwyn.

‘Are you _marking_ me?’ he said, disbelieving.

Gwyn looked at him, expression still, and pressed harder until Augus’ mouth thinned.

 _‘Yes,’_ Gwyn said. The pain increased until Augus pushed at Gwyn’s hand. But without the use of pressure points – which he decided might not be a good idea when Gwyn was in this mood – he wasn’t strong enough to move his hand or wrist away.

‘Will you slam my head against the ground, too?’ Augus said, voice strained.

‘What do you think?’ Gwyn said, relenting and moving his hand away from the bruises he’d etched back into Augus skin. He smoothed his rough palm up Augus’ skin and Augus blinked when Gwyn’s fingertips found and touched his collarbone, then stroked it roughly. ‘Why am I always having to clean up dead bodies for you?’

‘Why is your Seelie Court so venomous?’ Augus said, and Gwyn ignored him. He placed both hands around Augus’ waist and turned him, pushing harder when Augus started to resist. Augus found himself facing a wall of moss. Gwyn pushed him between the shoulder blades until Augus brought a hand up to brace himself.

He knew, perhaps, that he should be resisting more. His head didn’t ache quite as much, he could feel the points where Gwyn had dug his fingers into his ribs, his ankle hurt. He could still feel his heart beating faster than usual. It had reached the point where he had considered transforming willingly in front of other people. It had reached _that_ point.

It was strange to be the one in this position. Strange that he wasn’t immediately pushing back, pressing hard at Gwyn’s buttons, because he could tell that Gwyn had them. Didn’t take a genius to work out that he was possessive. Not the way Gwyn was leaning into him, breathing into his neck. His breath was warm against him, made his skin flush.

‘Where did they touch you?’ Gwyn said again, voice deeper than usual, and Augus closed his eyes.

He could blame this on the rush that came from killing someone. And adrenaline. And almost dying. He had a lot of things he could blame this on. Typically, people getting possessive over him was not something he enjoyed at all. For a start, it was inconvenient, given that he wasn’t particularly interested in committing to anyone. The fact that he’d somewhat committed himself to the idea of Gwyn was...

What could he blame _that_ on?

‘You are a big, dumb, idiot,’ Augus said, but he winced, because the words could apply to the two of them, in this case.

‘Did they touch you here?’

Gwyn’s hand smoothed over Augus’ ass through his pants, while his other hand kept Augus pressed into the wall, and Augus’ breathing hitched. The touch was familiar, it moved further down until Gwyn could dig his fingers into the back of Augus’ thigh and drag that grip back up again. Gwyn pressed in closer.

‘I didn’t like seeing you like that,’ Gwyn said, and Augus felt laughter catch in his throat.

‘The almost being murdered part? Or the almost being fucked part?’

‘Yes,’ Gwyn said.

Augus laughed, but the sound was cut short when Gwyn pressed his fingers between Augus’ legs from behind, ran over fabric, smoothed over his balls and then simply stayed there, breathing faster than before.

‘I own you,’ Gwyn said, darkly, and Augus opened his eyes at the sheer audacity of the statement. He wasn’t _owned_ by anyone.

His fingers dug into the moss when Gwyn’s fingers rubbed against him. It wasn’t painful, not as rough as he’d expected. Vines of sensation moved through him, crept along his nerves, pooled in his gut. Augus shivered when Gwyn bit hard into his shoulder. It was through the material of the shirt that was hanging off him, but he could still feel the imprint of each of his teeth, the sharp sting of one of his canines sinking deeper than the rest.

‘You don’t own me,’ Augus said, and the hand that was pressing between his shoulder blades curved around and pulled Augus backwards into Gwyn’s chest. Fingers splayed over his throat, fingertips pushing up and forcing Augus’ head back until it rested on Gwyn’s shoulder. His other hand had crested around until it could palm his hip, and Augus felt Gwyn hard against the base of his spine.

‘I just saved your life,’ Gwyn breathed. ‘He would have killed you as you killed Stornbeck.’

‘Your soldiers actually have names?’ Augus said, as Gwyn’s fingers shifted against his throat. ‘I’m surprised you don’t just give them numbers or something.’

‘Didn’t you hear, Augus? I can’t count that high.’

Augus’ eyes widened. Had that been a _joke?_ He swallowed and stared up at the ceiling as Gwyn responded by tracing his Adam’s apple, his trachea. Gwyn was actually stroking his neck.

Augus knew, in that moment, his centre had been shattered irrevocably. The domination was still there, still within him, but instead of feeling revulsion at being controlled like this, he felt a swirl of arousal that turned his nervous system to warm water, made him feel as though lava had been buried in the floor beneath him. Heat rose up all the way to his cheeks and his face was flushed.

‘They did,’ Augus said, wanting to see what Gwyn would do. ‘They did touch me. Is that a problem, Gwyn? Do you have a problem with that? One would think you d-’

Augus’ words were cut off when Gwyn pressed fingers into his mouth.

‘Be quiet,’ Gwyn said against his ear. ‘Just be quiet.’

The old dislike of having his words silenced washed through him and he reached up, tried to tug Gwyn’s hand away. Gwyn paused, then responded in own time, withdrawing his fingers after rubbing them over Augus’ tongue. He painted Augus’ saliva over his cheek lazily and Augus swallowed.

‘How did you find me?’ Augus said, as Gwyn’s hand continued upwards, painting lines of sensation over his hair.

‘You were lucky,’ Gwyn said, pushing Augus back into the wall and biting the side of his neck. ‘One of the trows that you’d befriended saw you cornered and came to fetch me. You could have been killed.’

‘I had plenty of time,’ Augus drawled. ‘They would have fucked me first.’

Gwyn stilled, then forced his leg between Augus’ legs, raised his knee up until the top of his thigh was pressing against Augus. It was uncomfortable, his pants were tight, Gwyn’s thigh was broad.

‘I don’t have lube,’ Gwyn groaned suddenly. He thumped his forehead against Augus’ shoulder.

‘You have it _everywhere,’_ Augus said in disbelief, and then realised how eager that made him sound.

_Well..._

‘ _Damn_ it,’ Gwyn said, and clutched onto Augus tightly, before teleporting them both out of the room.

Gwyn let him go before the light had even dissipated, walking over quickly to a chest of drawers by a bed that Augus didn’t recognise. He looked around the room quickly, took in the pale wood everywhere, the bed with its simple, rustic blankets. There were old, hand-drawn maps hanging on the far wall, and a drawing table with broad sheets of parchment on it. The bed itself was only narrow, designed for a single person. Augus narrowed his eyes.

‘Where are we?’

He recognised Gwyn’s writing on the maps and went over to take a closer look, they looked well-made. Gwyn walked quickly back to him and pushed him up against the wall. The wood-panelling was considerably less forgiving than the moss had been.

‘Don’t get distracted,’ Gwyn said, and Augus stared at him. ‘When was the last time you were fucked up against a wall, Augus?’

Augus looked down at the vial of lube in Gwyn’s hand and raised his eyebrows.

‘There’s a _bed_ right there,’ Augus said, pointing to it.

Being fucked up against a wall was undignified. That’s why he sometimes did it to others. It was not something he particularly wanted to  try. He opened his mouth to say as much, when Gwyn pressed his palm over his lips and blocked the words.

‘You’re in for a treat then, aren’t you?’

When Augus reached up to remove Gwyn’s hand from his mouth, Gwyn grabbed one of his wrists and shoved it behind Augus’ back, leaning against Augus so hard that his arm was pinned by their combined body weight. Gwyn reached down and yanked at Augus’ pants, and Augus – half-hard now – had the unpleasant experience of the head of his erection catching on the fabric. He snarled against Gwyn’s palm, clawed into Gwyn’s wrist instead of trying to tug it away. Blood welled from the furrows, dripped down, and Gwyn ignored it.

Gwyn placed the hand that had pulled Augus’ pants down, directly over Augus’ cock. It was a simple, warm pressure. When Gwyn didn’t immediately follow it up with jerking him off roughly, didn’t hurt him, Augus swallowed. He had no idea what was going to happen next. He’d never seen Gwyn like this. He’d seen him vindictive, vengeful, vulnerable. He’d seen him subsume his own need for submission by clawing it from Augus. He’d seen and drawn forth _his_ submission. But he’d not seen _this._

Gwyn slowly removed his palm from Augus’ mouth and then licked at the blood dripping down his forearm. It was a completely unselfconscious gesture, and it was those moments that Augus found so hypnotising. When Gwyn wasn’t being repressed or stuck up or uppity or any of the other thousand things that he was being, he was this strange, fey creature. Augus didn’t even know what _kind_ of light fae he was. He had been trying to figure it out, and couldn’t pinpoint it. Gwyn acting on impulse was someone who licked at his own blood like it was syrup. Augus felt himself get harder. Gwyn must have felt that against his hand, his eyes flickered up to Augus’. 

‘They would have hurt you,’ Gwyn said, licking his lips as he straightened. With less pressure on Augus’ chest, Augus was able to extract his arm from where it had been pinned against the wall.

‘They _did_ hurt me,’ Augus said, kicking his own pants off in frustration. He growled when the material caught on his bruised ankle. That would take a little longer to heal. He suspected the bones were injured.

‘They were going to _kill_ you,’ Gwyn said, opening the vial and pouring lubricant onto his fingers. Augus watched, pressure catching up in his throat. ‘You don’t know how the fae talk about you because you’re sheltered from it. You should never have let them see you. You, of all people, should not drop your guard. You can’t afford to.’

‘And that’s a lesson you’re going to fuck into me?’ Augus said, and Gwyn wrapped a slick hand around Augus’ cock. Gwyn pumped his hand up and down several times and then slowed down drastically, taking a deep breath as he tightened the pressure and slid his hand up in increments. The unexpected change of pace hit Augus like a ball of pressure, expanding until he felt like he didn’t quite fit his skin anymore. His head fell back into the wall and his hips canted forwards. Gwyn chuckled.

‘Look at you, so confident after breaking someone’s neck,’ Augus said, and Gwyn exhaled raggedly. Because that was it, Augus realised. Rumours abounded of how unstoppable Gwyn was on a battlefield, how he became instinct and bloodlust and pure skill. It was probably one of the few places that Gwyn couldn’t afford his repression. One of the few places he could have escaped whatever horrendous things were going on at home while growing up. Augus had never personally seen Gwyn on the battlefield before, hadn’t been interested, but he was curious now. Curious what that Gwyn looked like.

And Augus, on another level, could relate. He knew the thrill of stalking and hunting and killing one’s prey. He knew the strange, prickling lust it left floating through one’s blood. And even though that soldier – _Stornbeck –_ hadn’t been food, the crunch of cartilage had been satisfying all the same.

Gwyn’s hand sped up again, and Augus shuddered. He reached forward with his own hands and tucked them underneath Gwyn’s shirt, pressing his hands to the skin beneath. It was overheated, far hotter than usual.

Gwyn’s heart was thundering in his chest, a rabbit-run of speed. Augus pulled himself away from his awareness of the pleasure Gwyn was evoking, he shifted into another part of his mind, raised his hand up to Gwyn’s face. Gwyn blinked into awareness, looking at Augus in surprise.

‘You were afraid,’ Augus said. Gwyn frowned at him. He didn’t say anything, but a troubled look crossed his features. It was strange seeing it, the small frown, the way he looked at Augus like he had said the wrong thing. Gwyn’s hand slowed down again, slowed further, turning Augus’ mind to sensation and want. By the time the heel of Gwyn’s palm was dragging over the tip of Augus’ cock, Augus was trying to remember what he was going to say, then decided it didn’t matter.

But Augus knew now why Gwyn felt the need to say it more than once; _You could have been killed._ That was the heartbeat of someone who was terrified of that outcome, someone who needed a reminder that it hadn’t happened after all.

Augus could see – in that moment – so many clear pathways towards breaking Gwyn. It was something he did naturally, look for the breaking point, run his fingers upon it before pressing down hard. And Gwyn would respond. Augus could casually tell him that he would have preferred to have died, than have Gwyn’s hands on him. He could have told him that he did let them touch him, because everything in the palace was the essence of tedium and he thought the soldiers might have a better chance of pleasing him than Gwyn could. He could push in just the right direction, and Gwyn’s hands would falter. Gwyn would leave to fret over his own fears. Something he would probably do anyway, with or without Augus’ help.

But Augus wanted that less than he wanted to know more about this side of Gwyn. He wanted that less than the hand on his cock, drawing a shakiness out of his lungs. Because Gwyn wasn’t the only one surprising him lately. Because so many things were changing, and he wanted to know what would happen next.

Augus blinked, startled, when Gwyn’s hand ran underneath his thigh and lifted at his leg.

‘Up,’ Gwyn said. ‘Up, so I can fuck you.’

Augus frowned. He wanted to know every part that would happen next except the part where Gwyn wouldn’t just move things to the bed.

‘I am not some-’

His voice was cut off in a sharp cry as Gwyn dug the tip of his thumb into the slit of Augus’ cock. It was a blunt, painful intensity, one not helped at all by Gwyn’s fingers tightening under his thigh. Augus gasped through it, realised that talking Gwyn into using the bed wasn’t going to happen.

 _‘Up,’_ Gwyn demanded. ‘Wrap your legs around me.’

Augus glared at him, then lifted the leg Gwyn had his hand under and brought it up around Gwyn’s waist. Gwyn’s hand slid up to his hip and lifted him, so that Augus could lift his other leg easily. Augus hooked one arm over  Gwyn’s shoulder, and looked down at the top of Gwyn’s head, then into the room itself. He was aware of Gwyn’s strength.

‘You’re still wearing clothes,’ Augus said, and then laughed. He was still technically wearing his shirt. Gwyn hadn’t taken it off, only ripped it apart at the front.

‘Not a problem,’ Gwyn said. ‘This is what I’m used to.’

_Of course, of course it is. You’ve probably done this against trees, barbarian._

Augus snuck his hand underneath Gwyn’s shirt, at the back of his neck, as Gwyn quickly pulled his own pants down. It was ungainly, there was nothing graceful about any of this. One of his own hands was still braced palm backwards against the wall. Gwyn noticed and tugged it away, fingers gently curling around his wrist and encouraging Augus to let go of the wall.

‘You don’t need to do that,’ Gwyn said, voice low and matter of fact. Not remotely seductive. And yet as Augus brought his hand away from the wall, he closed his eyes. The position was doing strange things to him. He threaded his other hand through Gwyn’s hair, hummed in satisfaction when Gwyn paused, head bowing under that touch. It pleased him very much that Gwyn liked that. He scraped his fingers over Gwyn’s scalp, and Gwyn’s shoulders heaved under his other hand.

And then Augus felt fingers stroking at his entrance and he exhaled harder, shoulders pushing hard against the wall. Gwyn looked up at him, and Augus looked down. There was a hungry, desperate, determined expression on his face.

‘I don’t want anyone else touching you,’ Gwyn said, and Augus found it difficult to know what to say, with Gwyn’s fingers slick and presumptuous and not having penetrated him yet.

‘You don’t own me,’ Augus managed, and Gwyn’s brow furrowed further, he grimaced.

‘No. Perhaps not all the time. But now. Right now I do.’

Gwyn pushed the tip of his middle finger inside, and Augus’ jaw went lax, his arms tightened around Gwyn’s neck. Gwyn pushed as deep as he could go, though the angle wasn’t as good, and withdrew before coming back with a second finger already. He was going too fast for it to be entirely comfortable, and Augus didn’t understand when he had become someone who _liked_ that. His breathing hitched, there was a mild stretch, and Augus tilted his hips so that the angle was better.

‘Good,’ Gwyn said absently, and Augus’ chest tightened. He could lambast himself for enjoying this later. The sensations were dragging him underwater and he wanted to follow, he wanted to sink down into the deep with them. Gwyn had showed him that it was okay, that he didn’t have to hold himself up and separate from everything like he usually did in a scene. Gwyn had showed him that when he’d carefully deconstructed Augus’ love of slow touch, when he’d sent Augus practically mindless before ever coming himself.

Augus’ legs flexed, pressed tighter to Gwyn’s hips and back. His hair was sticking to the wall where he’d shifted his head without thinking. Gwyn’s fingers were blunt and demanding inside of him, working towards only one purpose, stretching him. Or so he thought. Augus cried out when Gwyn’s wrist shifted and he felt a slow, direct pressure over his prostate.

Augus shifted his hips to increase the sharpness of the angle, and filaments of pale green shot across the outer edges of his vision. He looked down, dimly, at the pale, white-gold curls beneath him and buried fingers into his hair, tightening his grip on Gwyn’s head as Gwyn’s fingers began thrusting back and forth inside of him.

When Gwyn added a third finger, Augus hissed. It was too fast, the adrenaline had made his body lock up, he couldn’t relax fast enough. He wished he minded. He didn’t care.

‘Fuck, Augus,’ Gwyn muttered. Augus heard how rough his voice was and curved his hand around the side of Gwyn’s face, pressing his thumb into Gwyn’s mouth. Gwyn’s voice jumped an octave, and Augus bit his lower lip and changed it to his index and middle finger, pressing deep until he could curl claw-tips at the back of his throat. Not enough pressure to hurt him, but enough to scrape. Augus could hear his own breathing, could hear Gwyn’s.

And then Gwyn moved his mouth backwards, keeping the tips of Augus’ fingers in his mouth. He sucked hard, absently, thrusting his tongue up between the gap. Augus moaned softly, then stared at the bed as Gwyn withdrew his fingers from Augus’ ass, and reached between them so he could line himself up.

He didn’t care about the bed anymore. It was too far away.

Gwyn looked up again, watching Augus’ face carefully as he pressed inside. Augus winced at the stretch, couldn’t tear his eyes away from the fact that Gwyn still had Augus’ fingertips in his half-open mouth, breathing heavily over them. Augus’ arm tightened around Gwyn’s shoulder absently. The sting became an ache as Gwyn pressed deeper still, and Augus groaned.

‘You...killed someone for me,’ Augus said, and his head dropped forwards as Gwyn used a combination of gravity and a hand on his hip to control his pace. He wasn’t fully seated yet, and Augus already felt full. It was the hazard of being fucked by Gwyn, there was always _more_ of something.

Gwyn didn’t care about speaking anymore. Augus could tell he’d reached that point where his desire to just let loose was taking over. Augus could feel Gwyn’s tension beneath his skin, in the way his hand was digging bruises into his hip, grinding against his hipbone.

Gwyn lost patience, pulled Augus down the rest of the way with a sharp, rough motion. Augus shouted, breathing became difficult. An ache had sent vines all the way up his spine into the base of his head and he clung on, shaking. That had _hurt_. But Gwyn paused, was heaving for breath, and Augus concentrated on relaxing, on accepting the fact of Gwyn inside of him. At some point his body turned the pain into a deep, throbbing ache that just made him aware of how hard he was, and his head tilted forwards until his head was alongside Gwyn’s.

Gwyn took a breath, then leaned backwards and removed the hand on Augus’ hip. Augus had the alarming sensation of realising that Gwyn’s hips and the cock anchored deep inside of him were the only things keeping him upright. He held on tighter, whimpered when Gwyn’s cock shifted inside of him.

‘I should have done this to you a long time ago,’ Gwyn said, voice rough. He ran a palm up Augus’ thigh and then dug his fingers into Augus’ ass cheek, spreading it. ‘A _long_ time ago. You _like_ this.’

Gwyn ran his hand back along Augus’ thigh and hitched it up even higher, his other hand bracing himself against the wall by Augus’ head. He withdrew slowly, then pushed back in quickly, tearing a response from Augus before he could stop himself. Gwyn’s pace picked up, and Augus focused on breathing, focused on holding onto Gwyn. He didn’t like that Gwyn was still fully clothed, everything on, the only thing different being his pants around his ankles. He tugged on Gwyn’s shirt absently, then buried a hand back in Gwyn’s hair when the ache intensified, when Gwyn started thrusting harder.

‘Lost for words?’ Gwyn managed, and Augus made a strangled sound that was frustration and want. ‘Can I help?’

Gwyn withdrew almost fully, paused, took a deep, wrecked breath and then pushed in so slowly that Augus felt his entire body contract. Sweat broke out all over his body and he spine bowed. His head hit the wall hard. Augus groaned, Gwyn kept up the incredibly slow pace.

‘Hasn’t your head been through enough today?’ Gwyn said, sounding entirely too composed for someone who was likely twenty seconds away from coming. Augus opened his mouth on a retort, but nothing came. The drastic slowdown in speed was short-circuiting his ability to think. He tried to speed things up, pushed his hips down, but Gwyn’s hand prevented him.

‘Slow,’ Gwyn murmured. ‘Just this once. Let me try.’

_Let me try._

Augus opened his mouth, inhaled deeply. Even now, Gwyn was trying to please. Even _now._ He raked his hand through Gwyn’s hair, over and over again, and felt the resultant tremors of pleasure transmit all the way through Gwyn’s arms.

 _I own you,_ Augus realised, thoughts scrambled, the corners of his mouth turning up. _Look at that. I own you even when you’re fucking me against a wall._

Gwyn made a thin sound as he hit bottom again, he was shaking now. The self-control wearing thin. Augus was grateful, because he was close, because his back and head were starting to hurt.

‘Fuck me,’ Augus breathed. ‘Properly.’

‘I’m close,’ Gwyn warned, and Augus nodded, his head dropped forwards again. He pulled Gwyn closer with his arms, with his legs.

‘ _Fuck_ me.’

Gwyn shifted both of his hands down to Augus’ hips, and Augus found a single, quick breath before Gwyn slammed it out of him again. Augus’ hands clung on, his body rocked back and forth against the wall at a pace that was dizzying. He hadn’t realised when he’d asked Gwyn to fuck him, Gwyn would translate that as fuck him to _death._

The head of Augus’ cock caught on the rough fabric of Gwyn’s shirt and he scratched out a protest as, hypersensitive, he realised he was going to come. It was an absent, unintentional extra stimulation that opened a dam inside of him and sent heat flooding through him. His claws shredded the back of Gwyn’s shirt and then raked hard down Gwyn’s shoulder blade as he came, mixed up in pain and pleasure.

Gwyn cried out as Augus ripped the skin on his back and his rhythm faltered, his hips jerked against him. Augus smeared blood against Gwyn’s back as he pulled him closer, still shuddering himself.

 _Mine,_ Augus found himself thinking, and even gasping for breath and finding coherent sentences difficult, he couldn’t help but smirk at the fact of thinking it in the first place. It wasn’t something that he bothered to ever think, about _anyone_ , required far too much effort and yet here he was...

Gwyn stilled against him, pressed his forehead into the wall beside Augus’ head, and then hesitantly pressed it into the side of Augus’ face, seeking. His breath was hot against Augus’ damp hair. His nose pressed into Augus’ cheek.

‘My back hurts,’ Augus said, voice hoarse. ‘And my head.’

Gwyn made a frustrated sound against his face.

‘Are you never _quiet?’_

‘We should have done this in a bed.’

He didn’t think that was true at all, but it was fun to say it, to feel Gwyn tensing against him. He couldn’t help himself. He turned his face into Gwyn’s and moaned softly as an aftershock ripped through his torso. Gwyn was inside him still, supporting his weight with his own.

‘You should _never_ have let yourself be seen,’ Gwyn muttered. He shifted his grip on Augus’ hips as he withdrew. Augus winced when he felt come running down the back of his leg. He needed the lake. But he focused on standing first, his legs weak underneath him. Gwyn was still leaning against him, both hands curled around his waist, making sure Augus could stand. It was disturbing how Gwyn knew to do that instinctively. As inexperienced as Gwyn was, this rough, reckless way of having sex was something he clearly knew about.

‘You should _never_ drop your guard, _ever,’_ Gwyn said, moving his head backwards to meet Augus’ eyes. ‘ _Ever.’_

‘I’m getting the impression that you want me to not get caught in a situation like that again,’ Augus said. ‘But you forget that I didn’t particularly enjoy it either. I didn’t _know_ your soldiers had access to that circle of rooms. I’ve never seen anyone in there before.’

‘People don’t come here often, but they do come here,’ Gwyn said, face twisting. ‘They can’t make it into the innermost circles. My room, the two circles of rooms after that. They can no longer make it into the one you were just in, I changed the permissions again. They can’t make it into your rooms. But you shouldn’t take any chances. If people need to find their way in, they will; especially if they have a need.’

‘Then they had a need to die, didn’t they?’ Augus said, pushing Gwyn aside and reaching down to pull his pants on. He was going to lie down at the bottom of that lake and let his thoughts drift. It had been a complicated day. Gwyn pulled his own pants up but didn’t bother lacing them. He turned to face Augus.

‘They didn’t need to die,’ Gwyn said, grabbing Augus by the arm. ‘They _didn’t.’_

‘You’re letting your toothpick-sized sentimental streak show, Gwyn,’ Augus spat.

‘It was wasteful!’ Gwyn shouted. ‘If you hadn’t let yourself be seen, they would be alive! They would be alive if it wasn’t for that. They have _families._ Uther has _children._ ’

Augus paused, he looked sidelong at Gwyn. _Now_ the jealous, possessive ass was going to have a breakdown over it. He didn’t have the energy for this. Gwyn didn’t just get pounded against a wall, after all. Gwyn didn’t nearly die.

‘Uther and Stornbeck were going to rape me, and then kill me afterwards. _Maybe._ Maybe they would have killed me first, depending on how much they minded fucking a dead body. _’_

Gwyn’s eyes widened, and Augus saw realisation dawn over his features. It was fear – plain, undiluted fear. For all that Gwyn didn’t know how to connect with people, there was a connection there that Gwyn was frightened of. Augus wasn’t used to seeing people worried about him, concerned for his life or his wellbeing. He’d had it from Ash, but anyone else? He’d projected a confident mien for so long that it was disturbing to see Gwyn’s reaction to his words. More disturbing, Gwyn looked so upset. That wasn’t an expression that gave him any satisfaction at all. He was almost certain that Gwyn had no idea what he looked like, how raw or telling the expression was.

_Fuck._

‘But they didn’t,’ Augus said softly. ‘And they can’t _tell_ anyone that I’m not underfae, or that you’ve breached conduct, because the situation isn’t a situation anymore. You accepted that they could die in battle, even if they have families. Why can’t you accept it now?’

Gwyn opened his mouth to respond and then seemed to think the better of it, his expression shuttering and his face wiping clean of all expression except that faint, grim disapproval he carried on it all the time. Augus reminded himself to poke at that later.

Gwyn reached behind himself and touched his back, his hand came away bloody. He grimaced, wiped the blood off on the front of his shirt. There was come on the fabric too, where Augus had released.

Augus raised his eyebrows, stifled the urge to yawn. The adrenaline was wearing off. He felt strange, far shakier than usual. He knew that most fae hated him, that he was a pariah amongst them all, but it was the first time he’d experienced the direct consequences of that in a way that had made him fear for his life. It was a reminder that if he ever got free of the Court, he’d never truly be free.

Augus placed a hand over his eyes and groaned.

‘Will you take me to the lake?’ Augus said, and Gwyn was standing in front of him immediately, hands coming up and removing Augus’ hand. Gwyn looked at him intently.

‘Are you alright?’ Gwyn asked, and Augus swallowed.

‘The water will help me heal.’

Gwyn’s face darkened, his hands tightened into fists. He looked through the wall of the room, as though he could see wherever his dead soldiers were lying beyond it. He looked like he wanted to kill them again.

 _Good,_ Augus thought. _Bring them back and kill them again. Let me watch._

A wave of tiredness passed over Gwyn’s face and he sighed.

‘I should go clean this mess up,’ he said to himself.

Augus pursed his lips.  

‘Do you need some help?’

Gwyn looked at him, perplexed, and Augus shrugged.

‘I don’t really want to help,’ he added. ‘You’re better at heavy labour than I am.’

Gwyn glowered at him and Augus stretched his arms, made a show of it. He walked towards Gwyn and shrugged in that way that always made a muscle jump in Gwyn’s jaw.

‘I don’t know why you’re upset about it. You’ve spent your entire life proving that you’re better at heavy labour than the average person.’

Gwyn looked like he wanted to retort, but then his brow furrowed and he looked at Augus more closely. He looked down his body and then reached out and placed a hand over the bruises on his ribs.

‘The water will help?’ Gwyn said, checking, and Augus nodded.

‘I’m Capital fae now. It shouldn’t take more than a day.’

Gwyn nodded brusquely, all business again, probably contemplating how best to dispose of the bodies of his soldiers, since they hadn’t died in the middle of a battle. Augus would offer to help with suggestions, but now that the sex was over, his body was impatiently reminding him of all the places he hurt. It was far too many places for his comfort, he couldn’t detach completely from the pain.

‘The lake,’ Augus prompted. ‘Gwyn.’

‘Be quiet,’ Gwyn said, a rough gentleness in his voice, carefully moving his hand around Augus’ back. Augus didn’t need to brace himself for the light. Gwyn’s light, when teleporting, was always warm, an unexpected balm.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, 'Nightmare:'
> 
> ‘You want to know what else he did,’ Augus said, voice weak. ‘I know, I know you do. I’ll tell you what to do. Brainstorm a list of things you can imagine the Nightmare King doing to someone, and underline _everything,_ and bring that to me, and I’ll tell you what you’ve _missed.’_


	20. Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No new tags. Though I will additionally warn for PTSD / PTSD triggers in this chapter.
> 
> *
> 
> Chapters 19 and 20 are paired, so will be coming closer together than normal. We're going to be seeing a darker Augus than previous chapters, but it will be easy to see why he's darker. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who is kudosing, commenting, subscribing, bookmarking, reading, enjoying! You guys are great, whether lurkers or not lurkers or whomever you may be, I love you guys. :D

The doe tilted her head where it rested – lax and trusting – on Gwyn’s leg. Gwyn stroked her ear with his fingers, looked at the herd of red deer that were grazing or resting nearby. His back was braced against a sturdy, ancient beech, attended by a shy, furtive dryad who had sprung out of sight as soon as she’d seen him. He wasn’t interested in interacting with her, and as long as he didn’t harm her tree – something he had no intention of doing – she would leave him be.

The doe inched closer, leaning her head into his hand, staring up with a limpid, dark gaze. It had been some time since he’d called forest animals to him, to see who would heed his call. A long time since he had simply spent time like this, still and quiet, contemplative.

Usually he did it to unwind, but there was a bitter, black tension inside of him and it would not unravel. He kept the discordance quiet enough that the deer were not frightened, but it was unusual for only a single deer to respond to his call when he allowed his energy to spool out around him. This doe, she was unusually calm, perhaps a little touched by fae magic herself. He traced the grain of her pelt, scratched the underside of her ear, leaned his head back against the beech and stared out into the distance.

Pitch hadn’t wanted to tell him anything. The visit itself had been remarkably tense. Pitch had realised almost immediately how enmeshed Gwyn was with Augus, could skim it off the top of his fears. And Gwyn had, for many reasons, always been uncomfortable with those who could read emotions. Empaths, Readers, others who understood how to see into a mass of feeling and pull out the truth. Pitch’s expression as he regarded Gwyn, was one that Gwyn had seen in his life before, and he didn’t appreciate seeing it from Pitch.

‘Before you judge me, I must speak with you on a matter relating to the Nightmare King. Specifically, what you remember of Augus’ time in captivity?’

 _‘Before_ I judge you?’ Pitch had seethed. ‘You are lucky that Jack isn’t here, I’d not tolerate you in this house otherwise. Let’s just recall, shall we, that Augus tortured him, and-’

‘And so?’ Gwyn said coldly. ‘And so I have murdered people, and forced cannibalism upon them, and raped Augus myself. Evict me from your home if you must, but at least do it on my own actions alone, and not the actions of Augus.’

Pitch absorbed the information and grimaced, mouth expressing a sharp distaste. Gwyn wanted to needle at him, wanted to say, _Am I not who you thought I was then?_ But he couldn’t bring himself to. He’d always respected Pitch, always respected his ability to separate himself from the darkness that twisted within him even once the shadows were gone. He’d admired him. He’d wanted to be admired. And in the absence of that admiration, Gwyn was not above saying what he needed to say to find out the truth.

‘I will not speak of that time in this house,’ Pitch said finally, and stood up swiftly, directing a look at Gwyn which said plainly that their friendship – such as it had been – was damaged, perhaps gone. Gwyn followed, swallowing down the tightness in his chest, forcing himself to focus. It had been too long that he’d let this go. Too long that he’d avoided confronting this reality. It was the mark of a coward, to use something so willingly against Augus to defeat him, to be so reluctant to discover for himself what the awful truth of it all actually was.

‘I want more this time,’ Gwyn said, as Pitch closed the front door behind him and set off in the direction of the woods, Gwyn following, thinking that perhaps he should have dressed for snow. He didn’t have Pitch’s immunity to extremes of temperature.

‘I am not sure how the sordid details of that period will help you.’

‘It’s not up to you to decide what will help me or not,’ Gwyn said, ‘It’s up to me. I have a damaged fae in my custody, and-’

‘In your _bed,’_ Pitch said, and Gwyn’s teeth ground together. ‘Let’s make no mistake here, _King,_ this is nothing to do with your custody of your prisoner of war. This is personal.’

Gwyn said nothing for a couple of minutes as they headed out away from Jack’s giant frost home – more sculpture than abode – and angled downhill towards a dense stand of trees. Spring was showing signs of awakening the land. Buds clung to the ends of branches, a tiny new leaf unfurled above Gwyn’s head as he looked up.

‘It is personal,’ Gwyn said. ‘If you are concerned that Augus might someday free himself, might someday come after you or Jack, I do not think you need to fear this.’

‘No, you aren’t afraid of that, are you?’ Pitch said, his voice changing from outright hostility, to something else, something quieter.

‘I need to know,’ Gwyn said. ‘I know he was captive for over a year. I know that he did not desire the Nightmare King’s attention. I know that he was a very different fae before the Nightmare King attacked him. But I would like to know the nature of that captivity. I wish to know what the Nightmare King did. You are the only one I can ask, now that he is gone. I know you do not like to think on it, however-’

‘One thing you have to understand about the Nightmare King, is that he didn’t often take personal prisoners. Very few individuals piqued his interest. He was more interested in mass destruction, than picking off the vulnerable. What was a single person to a populated planet?’

‘I am not interested in the psychology of the Nightmare King. I want to know what he _did_ to Augus. Stop evading the subject and answer me.’

Pitch stopped abruptly, then turned with the slow promise of someone who had come to a decision.

‘Very well,’ Pitch said, ‘But you will regret asking this of me.’

Now, hours later, Gwyn sat in a forest more readily awakened to the coming of Spring, and the deer offered him a margin of solace. He thought of Augus back in the Seelie Court, closed his eyes. He wasn’t ready to go back. If he went back, he would have to confront the fact that he’d used that past against Augus, knowing hardly anything about it. As it was, his mind was taken up with sober thoughts. Could they have done something sooner? Why didn’t anyone do anything about him being missing for an entire year? Augus had never taken a sabbatical like that before, had never wanted to leave his home for so long, _everyone_ knew that. Even Gwyn, a soldier of the Seelie fae, even he had known that.

They had failed him utterly. No one had looked, except, perhaps, Ash. A growing reputation amongst the fae, in favour with those of the Court, and no one had tried.

And Augus had been broken, down in the dark.

Pitch didn’t remember a great deal and Gwyn believed him. But what he remembered, what details had come to him over time, made Gwyn realise that he needed to understand more. He would see Augus and want to ask, and Augus would...

That would not go down well.

Understandably.

Gwyn pressed a thumb and forefinger into his closed eyelids, staving off the burning wetness he felt there. The doe nosed gently at his forearm, sensing his distress, and he brought his other hand around and soothed her muzzle. He was being self-indulgent, sitting here, finding the succour of animal company. He hadn’t earned this, the day wasn’t yet done. He could not close the box he had opened and give himself closure. He lowered his hand from his eyes and stroked a smooth line down the curve of the doe’s neck. He liked deer. They could be fierce, they could be fleet. He felt his heart calm after spending time with them.

‘Darling,’ Gwyn said quietly, ‘Thank you for your company, but you may join your herd again now, if you wish.’

The doe lifted her muscular neck and pushed the bridge of her nose into his chest, huffing out a single, stubborn breath. He laughed a rising sound of quiet delight, cupped her face in his hands, stroked fingers along her chin.

‘You are not like the others, are you? May your young be strong and well-formed; perfect, brave mirrors of their mother.’

Gwyn often forgot that he could offer benedictions like that. A long tongue rasped around his wrist in thanks, and then the doe lifted her head and turned her liquid eyes back to her herd. She swung back to stare at him, a long moment of shared connection, then walked calmly back to her kin. A short while later the herd disappeared, drifting further out into the forest until Gwyn could sense them, but could no longer see them.

He stood and pressed his palm to the beech tree, hoping the dryad hadn’t been too bothered by his presence. Forest spirits usually let him be, but this was a pocket of woodland he’d been unfamiliar with, and he hoped he’d made a good impression. After all, he hadn’t done much more than sit there and think.

Gwyn sighed. Hard conversations were ahead.

*

‘I visited Pitch today,’ Gwyn said, by way of greeting.

Augus looked up from the bolt of dark, waterfae friendly fabric he was inspecting. His nostrils flared once, his pupils had dilated, but otherwise nothing betrayed his fear.

‘You’re just in time,’ Augus said, finally. ‘Do you see what I have to go through, re-ordering shirts that you keep ripping off me? Honestly, _buttons,_ Gwyn, do remember that they have a function.’

Augus turned back to the trow who was staring shyly between the two of them. He held up four fingers, indicating the number he wanted, and the trow nodded eagerly and quickly ran off. Despite her small size, she managed the large bolt of cloth easily.

‘We _employed_ servants in the Unseelie Court,’ Augus mused, ‘and you have trows. I-’

‘They’re employed,’ Gwyn said, forehead furrowing. ‘They are paid. Why did you think otherwise?’

Augus looked surprised and then frowned.

‘Aren’t trows often used for servitude? They are willing to work for free, after all.’

‘I’m aware,’ Gwyn said, disturbed. Was that what everyone thought? That the trows were indentured? It was true that the vast majority of trows worked for free, but they weren’t like brownies or other forms of sprite who left as soon as they were paid for their work. The trows appreciated the reimbursement for their services. He’d even had two go on extended holidays, never to return. People didn’t talk to him about the trows. There was a faint disapproval from some of the Court, who thought that the Seelie servants should be comelier, but Gwyn liked them. They were private, resourceful and not prone to gossip.

‘You pay them?’ Augus said, staring at him, and Gwyn tried to keep his body language open, easy. Spending time in the forest had awoken his senses, and he could smell Augus’ fear. But Gwyn didn’t want to let this go so easily. Augus would never talk about it, not without someone leaning hard on the other end. He understood that about Augus, he understood that about himself.

‘Augus,’ Gwyn said, ‘just answer me one thing, honestly. Were you given reason to be afraid of the dark?’

Augus laughed lightly. It was a scathing, derisive sound, and would not have been out of place amongst those members of the Court who vied for higher positions, who gossiped as though it was the only thing to do in the Court itself.

‘Please. I was born into the black murk of a lake, Gwyn. Do you think there is a single darkness out there that can frighten me?’

Gwyn frowned. Perhaps it was true. Augus surprised him in how well he took difficulties in his stride. But in this he suspected that his own instincts were right. He cast his mind for a location, and then stepped forwards decisively, grasping Augus by the arms before Augus realised what was happening.

They dissolved into light.

They formed into an inky blackness; a tunnel at the bottom of a deep well. The location was still, empty, filled entirely with darkness. There was no way to navigate in this dry, black space, except by touch and scent.

Augus’ reaction was instant.

His breathing stilled in his chest, he started shaking.

Augus gasped as though there was no air in the oppressive space, struck out hard at Gwyn. There was a surprising amount of strength behind the blow, and Augus got free. Gwyn tensed to run, but Augus didn’t flee. He made a thin, plaintive sound that shredded at something in Gwyn’s chest, and then he fell to the dirt floor beneath them.  

Gwyn crouched in an instant, feeling out for Augus, swallowing when he found him, a huddled mass on the ground, arms up and over his face, hands digging into his own head. His breathing was an uneven rasp. Gasps were followed by nothing at all, the sound of someone holding their breath for as long as they could bear. He trembled violently.

Gwyn winced and grasped Augus, hating the uncoordinated way that Augus weakly pushed at him, hating the moan of denial that had – Gwyn knew – nothing to do with him at all.

He teleported them back to Augus’ room.

He expected Augus to get up straight away, to be outraged, but Augus stayed on the ground in the same position. He hunched in on himself further.

'I apologise,’ Gwyn said. He had wanted to be wrong. He had wanted, very much, for his suspicions to be wrong.

When Augus didn’t move, he smoothed his hand over Augus’ back. It was easier, now, after having spent time in the forest. It was easier to find his way in this. He felt Augus’ heart rate, the unsteadiness of it a frightening thing. It wasn’t just faster, it skipped beats.

Augus didn’t move, barely breathed. Gwyn sat down properly, stretching his legs out alongside Augus, brushing fingers softly over the bits of damp hair that weren’t being clutched in Augus’ fingers. He waited, watched. How long had it taken, he wondered, before Augus had been driven to insanity? Weeks? Months? Not the full year, surely.

‘Are you...happy now?’ Augus managed, and Gwyn closed his eyes.

‘No.’

‘...Seeing me like this,’ Augus added, and then his hands flexed and trembled above his head. ‘How dare you? How _dare_ you?!’

Gwyn had expected retaliation from the very moment that he had realised Augus was terrified of the dark. Augus’ body uncoiled with a snap and he launched himself at Gwyn, claws striking out for his eyes, his throat. Gwyn caught his wrists quickly and held them firm, and Augus struggled against him before sagging. His head was bowed towards the ground, he refused to look at Gwyn, his hair hiding his expression.

‘I apologise,’ Gwyn said again. ‘But you lie to me, Augus. You lied about this. I only wanted to check if it was true.’

‘Let me go,’ Augus said to the floor. And in that moment, Gwyn couldn’t tell how present Augus was. His voice was terrible. They were likely words that Augus had said many times before, to no avail. He let go of his wrists immediately, and Augus’ arms fell, but his hands landed palm-first on the ground, Augus braced himself. When he looked up, there was something cold and dead in his eyes. Gwyn hadn’t seen that expression on his face before, even in the cell.

‘If you had known, would you have used the shadows against me as you did? You would have, wouldn’t you?’ Augus said, imperiously, despite his position on the ground.

Gwyn looked away.

‘I would have used them faster,’ he said, opting for honesty. ‘I would have...’

Guilt clawed up through him. If he had known this, he would have shoved Augus into blackness as quickly as he could and left him there until Augus pleaded for the cells and demotion and mercy instead. He swallowed. Sometimes he told himself that he would not do these things if he knew how much they truly affected Augus...but years of training, years of studying under the purview of his father, Gwyn knew that it would be a lie. There were things he did not like knowing about himself.

Gwyn cleared his throat. He could feel Augus’ eyes on him.

‘Do you know, I think you _can_ help me feel better,’ Augus said, pushing himself up onto his hands and knees properly and crawling over Gwyn’s legs, straddling him. One hand came up and rested on his chest, and Gwyn told himself that he did not, he did _not_ feel the urge to submit.

‘How?’ Gwyn said, and risked glancing at Augus.

There was no expression on his face. It was a blank mask, but for the lidded cruelty banked in his green eyes.

‘Why would you do that?’ Augus said, and Gwyn wasn’t sure what he meant. Augus dug his claws into Gwyn’s chest, piercing the material of his shirt. Pinpricks of pain became a small flare, his skin was broken, he felt the heat of his own blood seep into his shirt. Gwyn swallowed. Once, Augus had thrust clawed fingers into his abdomen as though skin had been nothing at all.

‘Augus,’ Gwyn said, a single warning.

‘So I am afraid of the dark,’ Augus spat, dragging furrows into Gwyn’s skin, five lines of fire that spilled stains into Gwyn’s shirt. Augus watched them, hypnotised. The corner of his mouth turned up. ‘Fight back.’

Gwyn couldn’t. There was a time when he would have, but there was a time when he would have thrust Augus into the dark, and there was a time when he _had_ used the living shadows against him. He didn’t want to fight back. The pain at his chest was bearable. The expression on Augus’ face disturbed him.

Augus lashed out with his other hand and punched the inside of Gwyn’s elbow, causing his arm to buckle. Gwyn struggled to catch himself, but Augus used the momentum to force Gwyn’s back to the ground. He raised bloodied fingernails and Gwyn jerked backwards when Augus painted a red stripe down the line of his carotid artery.

‘You could do it now, if you wanted. Leave me in the dark. It wouldn’t take long,’ Augus said.

He slid his hand under Gwyn’s shirt and watched him, mouth firm, as he dug his claws in again, pierced Gwyn’s skin by his ribs. Gwyn thought he should put a stop to this, but he wondered if it would help, wondered if...

‘I don’t want to leave you in the dark,’ Gwyn said.

‘I would do whatever you wanted,’ Augus said, laughing under his breath at his own words. ‘ _Anything_ you wanted.’

Gwyn swallowed a growing sickness inside of him.

‘We both know it isn’t good for me, to do anything I want.’

His attention was drawn to the deliberate way Augus was carving his skin. His claws were punctuation marks, sharp at the tips but blunt at the edges. And it was with the blunt sides that Augus forced his way through Gwyn’s flesh, spilling blood and watching the stains follow with that same cruelty in the cold cast of his eyes.

Augus’ gaze flicked up briefly to Gwyn’s, and then a starburst of pain rocketed through him where Augus had dug in a single nail. He cried out, voice escaping, even though he was trying to keep himself mastered, under control.

‘Pressure point,’ Augus said, voice flat.

 _'Stop,’_ Gwyn managed, and the fingernail stayed for a few seconds longer and then withdrew.

'‘Stop,’ he says,’ Augus muttered to himself. '‘Stop.’ Interesting. What if I didn’t? What then? Would you throw me down into the dark then?’

Gwyn was still trying to catch his breath. His muscles remained locked in place across his left-hand side. He reached out with a hand to dig his fingers in, to unlock the tension himself, and his side was warm with blood. He would live, this was nothing. He’d experienced much worse than this at the hands of his own cousin. The furrows at his chest would already be starting to heal, were already hurting less. Still, as he dug his knuckles into the space between his ribs, above the pressure point, he wondered if he should stop Augus. But it seemed like...

It was the only way to find things out, sometimes, with Augus.

‘That day,’ Augus said quietly, and Gwyn shivered when bloodied fingers traced wet marks along his hipbone. ‘That day you coerced Ash into using the shadows against me like that. That day...you were very like him. You were more like him than that empty vessel he left behind.’

Gwyn stared, but Augus wasn’t looking at him. Augus was concentrating on what he was doing.

‘Do you even know what it feels like? Those shadows? Creeping inside?’

Augus dug his claws in harder, sank an inch into flesh, and Gwyn hissed and then got his breathing under control.

‘No,’ Gwyn said, and Augus looked up at him then, smirked.

‘And it’s too late to find someone and ask them nicely to show you. What a shame. Also, you have pressure points here and _here.’_

Gwyn’s head thumped back into the floor, pain stealing the breath from his lungs. Augus was pressing in just above the jut of his hipbone, triggering something that spread in cramps through his entire abdomen.

‘Fight back,’ Augus said crisply.

‘I- I don’t want to fight you,’ Gwyn said, and so far, he didn’t have to. It was only pain. Bad pain, certainly, but only pain. And that always faded. Always disappeared. He healed quickly. In a few hours time, his wounds would be knitted, he would no longer be bleeding. By this time tomorrow, there’d be no sign of what Augus had done at all. He held onto that, and then choked when Augus slid a second hand beneath his shirt and dug fingers through his skin directly into multiple pressure points at his ribs. Having the claws touching them directly was completely different to simply having pressure placed on them. Gwyn’s arms fell to his sides, his hands clenched into fists.

 _‘Fight back,’_ Augus demanded, and twisted the fingers at his hip. Gwyn moaned, pressed his lips shut. Augus tortured when he felt tormented. Gwyn knew, thought he knew what Augus was trying to do, and he didn’t want to fight back. He didn’t want to engage with whatever Augus was trying to do. But the pain was building, a mind-splintering whiteness that carved out all the words in his head, until he could only remember something Augus had said to him.

‘Let me go,’ Gwyn gasped.

The fingers withdrew from where they’d been pressed into his body, but the pain didn’t abate straight away. Gwyn raised a shaking hand to the wounds at his hip and held his palm loosely over them, bleeding against himself. He was striving to even his breathing out. He couldn’t forget why he was here in the first place. The things Pitch had told him. The things Gwyn had concluded for himself.

Gwyn didn’t want to be Augus’ captor anymore.

He didn’t want to be anyone’s captor.

He tensed when Augus wiped his fingers off on a clean patch on Gwyn’s shirt.

‘What, then, do you want from me?’ Augus said, and Gwyn pushed himself upright with his other arm, the scent of blood thick around him. ‘Why would you want to know these things that happened, if not to control me further?’

Gwyn stared at him, frowning.

‘Is that what you think?’ Gwyn said, voice rough. Augus didn’t look at him. Gwyn pulled himself out from where Augus straddled him and then brought his knees up underneath himself so he could crouch on the floor. It was still hard to catch his breath. The wounds at his hip were deep, moving was painful. He grunted as he placed his hand over them again. He could still feel echoes moving through the pressure points, aftershocks, as though the nerves refused to believe the stimulus was gone.

‘I didn’t ask so I could find out how to control you,’ Gwyn said. ‘Do you really believe that? Look where you live now. What status you are. When was the last time I truly tried to exert control over you? We aren’t counting the times we bed each other, surely. Does that not go both ways?’

Augus still wouldn’t look at him. His curtain of hair a frustrating barrier to seeing any expression at all. Gwyn had taken a risk in saying what he’d said. He still didn’t believe that Augus truly wanted him. Gwyn was available, Gwyn represented a margin of what Augus enjoyed in sexual partners, and Gwyn was someone who Augus enjoyed subjugating. It had very little to do with Gwyn himself, and more to do with the role he occupied in Augus’ life as a captor.

Augus said nothing at all, and Gwyn stared at him, anguish twisting through him. He hadn’t realised that Augus would interpret his visiting Pitch the way that he did.

‘Augus,’ Gwyn said, ‘I went because I wanted to understand you better.’

‘Why didn’t you fight me?’ Augus said, he sounded confused, and tired. Gwyn pushed himself upright and groaned. He was bleeding freely. His pants were stained. His clothing was a mess.

Gwyn placed his least bloody hand on Augus’ shoulder. He curved it around slowly. When he had a decent grasp on Augus’ upper arm, he encouraged him upright. Augus resisted at first, and then forced his legs under himself. He stood, numb. Gwyn tugged him over to the bed, wishing he had something to staunch the bleeding. There were red stains on the floorboard, where blood had trickled over his torso and started to pool on the floor.

‘I don’t enjoy this,’ Gwyn said, uncertain if Augus could hear him. ‘The only way I could find pleasure in...you being a prisoner, was to retreat to something that my family celebrated. I don’t want to fight you. Come, sit down properly.’

Augus got onto the bed, somehow managing grace even when he was worn and disengaged from what was happening around him. When Augus was settled up near the headboards, Gwyn looked through Augus’ cupboards until he found a folded blanket. It was plush and made of a material Gwyn didn’t recognise. He wondered if it was more of the waterfae friendly fabric that Augus favoured. Gwyn unfolded it and looked up at the ceiling when his hip cramped. His hands clenched into fists on the blanket. He paused and resisted the urge to place a hand over the wound again. It wouldn’t help.

‘It still hurts you,’ Augus murmured and Gwyn shook his head.

‘It’s healing.’

‘The pain shouldn’t be so bad,’ Augus said, and Gwyn closed his eyes. It wasn’t unmanageable, only distracting. He forced his breathing to calmness until the worst of it passed, and then kept unfolding the blanket. He looked over at Augus as he approached, only to see Augus looking at him through strands of damp hair. Gwyn hesitated. But Augus didn’t say anything, and so Gwyn drew the blanket over him carefully.

He pulled the edges of it up, and folded it around Augus’ sides.

‘I don’t want to fight you,’ Gwyn repeated. ‘I understand that you don’t feel the same way. And I understand why you would not believe me.’

Gwyn got onto the bed and leaned against a post at the base, facing Augus.

‘I didn’t want you to lie to me about this,’ Gwyn said, and then his breathing hitched as his hip flared up again. This time he did knuckle his hand into the wounds, and it helped slightly.

‘It shouldn’t be doing that,’ Augus said, vexed. But he didn’t move, and a few seconds later he lowered his head into his hand. He breathed a low, distressed laugh. ‘If I had caught you, while I was King, I would have forced the living shadows into you just to see what happened when a light fae encountered such profound darkness.’

Gwyn shuddered. It was something he’d considered before, how his light might respond to such a threat.

Augus stared out into the distance. His face became blank, he unfocused. Gwyn frowned, remembering how Augus did this during difficult times. He shifted closer and placed a tentative hand on his side.

‘Don’t disappear,’ Gwyn said, and Augus blinked several times in quick succession and then looked at Gwyn. He looked down at the blood smears on his hands, caught under his fingernails. And then at Gwyn’s shirt, his pants, down at the floor where the floorboards had been smeared with blood. The hip wounds were still bleeding. They’d been deep.

‘Where was that?’ Augus said, finally. It took Gwyn a moment to realise that Augus meant the place he’d teleported them to.

‘A tunnel attached to a deep well. I’d been there before.’

‘Why?’ Augus said. He shuffled over, pulling the blanket more tightly around himself. When his knees were nearly touching Gwyn’s, he reached his hand out to Gwyn’s injured hip. Gwyn held his breath, uncertain what Augus intended. But Augus’ fingers didn’t dig back into the wounds, instead pressing tentatively into the musculature. It was an impersonal, searching touch.

‘Why?’ Augus repeated.

‘A long time ago, I was reading a book on...capturing prisoners of war. It was an ancient book when I read it, some old thing that my father had acquired on his travels. He collected books on war and battle.’

Gwyn hissed when Augus pressed into a point beneath the pressure points. Pain ignited in the wounds themselves, as though Augus was digging his fingers back in. Gwyn grasped Augus’ wrist, but Augus stilled him, placed fingers that shook with fatigue on the back of his hand.

‘Wait,’ Augus said. ‘Continue what you were saying.’

Gwyn took a deep breath, focused on a different time.

‘There was a tale of a pixie who had been captured and trapped beneath the ground, in a tunnel, in a well. He was left, forgotten. A victim of the elemental battle of Aravalle. No more than a handful of lines. But I was curious. I searched.’

Augus looked up at him, eyes widening.

‘You found him?’

‘I liberated him. I found him after a couple of months of searching. He was in a...damaged state, but to my knowledge he is rehabilitating well, and integrated back with his people.’

‘How come I’ve never heard about this?’ Augus said, eyebrows knitting together. Still, he kept up that difficult, painful pressure on his hip. The pressure was increasing too, every time the pain in his wounds faded, Augus would press down more.

‘I never told anyone,’ Gwyn said, confused.

‘You read a tale, went on a quest to liberate a stolen pixie that you couldn’t be sure existed, spent months doing it, and you didn’t tell anyone that you were successful?’

‘No,’ Gwyn said, and Augus’ eyes narrowed, as though he’d seen something he didn’t know how to accept. Augus opened his mouth to say something, and then thought the better of it, closed it again. After a minute of silence, Augus slowly released his fingers from Gwyn’s skin.

Gwyn breathed a sigh of relief, then closed his eyes and breathed in deeply as he realised the rest of the pain was spooling away. Even the wounds didn’t hurt as much anymore.

‘What did you do?’ Gwyn said, and Augus shifted backwards on the bed, crossed his legs and wrapped the blanket around himself until it was up to his chin.

‘Trigger point,’ Augus said, voice muted. The explanation meant nothing to Gwyn, but whatever Augus had done, it had worked. There were no more aftershocks, no more unexpected jags of pain. He was still bleeding, but it felt like a distant thing. Hardly noticeable.

‘Have you done this before? Liberated fae? Not told anyone about it?’

Gwyn rubbed a hand over his forehead to try and clear the tension headache that was forming.

‘Why does it matter? Do you think I should be using it as social currency? Leverage? If I could have, I would. But it wasn’t relevant to anything I was doing at the time, so I didn’t.’

‘You’re still bleeding,’ Augus said, and Gwyn resisted the urge to sigh. The last time Augus had slipped out of catatonia, he’d become like this. It was as though the man who had just been cowering in a tunnel, terrified, didn’t exist. It was bewildering. Gwyn looked down at his shirt, the scratch marks in the fabric, the blood that had seeped through. It was not a pretty sight. He pulled it out, and it unstuck from his skin, making a wet sound as it detached. He let it fall back again.

When he looked back up, Augus was staring blankly ahead once more, fingers peeking over part of the blanket, forehead lightly furrowed. Gwyn moved forwards, mirroring Augus’ approach from earlier. He didn’t stop until their knees touched. He pulled up some of the blanket until it covered more of Augus’ neck, and noticed the fine vibrations shifting a lock of damp hair. Augus was still shivering, likely hadn’t stopped.

‘Oh, Augus,’ Gwyn said, more to himself. He placed a tentative hand on Augus’ shoulder and felt the trembling move through his hand. He squeezed his fingers lightly and let go again. He was no good in these situations. But, he supposed, Augus had asked him questions, and he could answer them properly.

‘I suppose I...yes, I have liberated fae before and not told anyone about it. It was something I...the pixie was the first time. It was the first time that I realised that these ancient tales, these handful of sentences, could have something like a real impact in the world. And the idea of a pixie forced to live in the dark like that, I didn’t want it to be true. After that I looked for other tales of prisoners of wars thrown into eternal prisons and I...’

Gwyn spread his fingers out on the bedspread before him and saw smears of blood on them, painting his fingertips, his knuckles, the back of his hand. He swallowed.

‘You are the first prisoner I have ever taken. I always thought how absurd it was, that I attained this reputation as a fierce warrior and strategist, when everyone could plainly see that I had a large, easily exploitable weakness; I never took prisoners of war in battle.’

‘You killed them instead,’ Augus said, and Gwyn’s head snapped up. He hadn’t realised that Augus could hear him. It was hard to tell with that blank expression, the shivering. ‘To be fair, that’s still quite intimidating.’

‘I imagine you are right.’

Augus wrapped his arms more tightly around himself, and let his eyes wander around the room. They seemed to alight on no particular item, just catalogued and moved on again. Gwyn had seen soldiers do that before, after a difficult time; reminding themselves where they were.

‘If you ever do that to me again,’ Augus said, looking over at the window, ‘I will kill you.’

Gwyn knew that wasn’t an idle threat.

‘I will not permit anyone to force me down into the dark like that again,’ Augus said, turning his slow gaze back to Gwyn’s. And Gwyn heard certainty, but he knew that if someone stronger than Augus truly desired it, Augus could be overpowered, even if he was exceptionally powerful. Gwyn himself was certain that he could do it himself. He wondered if Augus never talked about these experiences because it meant he would have to share his vulnerabilities and risk being exploited.

He hadn’t even told _Ash._

‘Pitch doesn’t remember a great deal,’ Gwyn offered, and Augus hummed.

‘How fortunate for him.’

Minutes passed and Gwyn waited, only to see Augus bow in more tightly on himself.

‘Your curiosity to know the details is offensive,’ Augus muttered. The words were slightly slurred, he sounded tired. ‘Ash was the same. Why must you always go where you are clearly not wanted?’

Gwyn smiled bitterly. He had to go home every day as a child and teenager when he wasn’t on tour or in the middle of a campaign, and that probably was why he was so good at it now.

‘It is not an unnatural thing, to want to know,’ Gwyn said, and frowned. ‘And you understand this. You are only wrong-footed because you are not doing it to others for once. And you are tired, Augus. I didn’t realise how tired you were. You said once, that you have trouble sleeping?’

‘Don’t,’ Augus said, glaring at him. ‘ _Don’t.’_

Gwyn said nothing, and Augus blinked at him, dark smudges of fatigue under his eyes. He looked nothing like the healthy waterhorse that Gwyn had seen earlier. Something had bled away from Augus in a very short space of time.

Augus stifled a yawn, and then chuckled to himself, as though something had amused him. It was odd, seeing him like this, as though a wall had been removed, or a filter was missing.

‘If only I had been a handful of lines in some fairytale. Perhaps you would have looked for me,’ Augus said, and then laughed again, the voice a deep, despairing jag that made something in Gwyn’s chest twist hard. ‘You found me too late, Gwyn. Far too late. I was only good for a war, when you found me. And look at you. You broke all your pretty rules about not taking any prisoners of war. Are you proud? Does it make you _proud?’_

Gwyn swallowed. It did not.

Augus’ shivering increased in severity until they were full body trembles, and Gwyn reached a hand out to rest it on Augus’ back, when Augus flung back the blanket and glared hatred at him.

‘Get _out,’_ Augus said. ‘You have no right to see me like this.’

Gwyn didn’t want to leave Augus alone like this. He seemed...unstable. But Gwyn also thought that after what he’d just done, forcing Augus into the dark just to check whether he was lying, he owed him this much. He got off the bed, tired himself, and wished he could say something that would help. But there was nothing to say, and Augus wouldn’t want to hear it from him anyway.

He left and closed the door behind him, pausing to take several deep breaths before walking away down the corridor.

It was only as he passed the last stained glass window in the hall that he stopped completely, and turned back to look at the closed door in the distance. He did not feel comfortable leaving Augus alone.

He leaned against the windowsill and waited in the dimness of late twilight, his mind full of many thoughts. Slowly, his mind crept into the space it found when he was hunting and needed to stay still for long periods of time. It wasn’t a quiet space, but it wasn’t too uncomfortable, and he let the time pass him by. He thought on the red deer he had met earlier. He thought on how long it had been since he hunted, and carefully avoided thinking about _why_ he had been avoiding it.

After half an hour had passed, he walked back to Augus’ door, and knocked on it softly.

‘Augus?’ Gwyn called out.

There was no answer.

Gwyn paused, concerned, and then opened the door gently, poking his head into the room.

Augus was slumped on the bed. He must have pulled the blanket back over himself, and he lay, face down, breathing slowly and deeply. One arm was tucked alongside his body, and his other was stretched out, blood-stained fingers curled slightly into the bedspread. Gwyn blinked to see him like that, and stepped into the room, unable to leave. He closed the door behind himself again and walked over to the bed, looking down at Augus’ face in repose.

He looked strangely innocent, in sleep. The confident and often smug lines around his eyes, the smirk around his mouth, they were gone. His eyelashes were black smudges that cast shadows over the shadows beneath his eyes. His mouth was relaxed. His hair curled around face, the waterweed a lush, rich green. Gwyn wondered if it hurt to cut the waterweed, as it was a living plant, not dead keratin. He reached out and smoothed a hand down one of the strands absently, and Augus sighed. Gwyn froze, but Augus only seemed to settle further into the bed, stretching one of his bent legs out. Gwyn repeated the gesture. Augus’ hair was thick, more a mane than hair.

Gwyn got onto the other side of the bed, reluctant to leave Augus to his nightmares, after the experience he’d forced on him. It was probably the wrong thing to do. Augus would likely be upset when he awoke, but Gwyn would weather that.

Gwyn lay down on his side, the right way up on the bed. He rested his head on pillows that were no longer damp, because Augus had refitted them all with a thin waterfae fabric. He couldn’t see Augus’ face from where he lay. He closed his eyes and settled down onto the bed, wondering if Augus would ever tell him about what happened.

*

There was no warning.

One moment Gwyn’s thoughts were drifting in the doze that many fae could enter into when they wanted to rest, but not sleep. The next, Augus shrieked an awful, terrible sound, the full weight of his waterhorse voice behind it. The voice vibrated terror through the very room, and Gwyn jerked up, startled and panicked, only to see Augus clawing the blanket off himself.

‘Light! Light!’ Augus cried out, and though his eyes were open, his pupils were almost entirely covering his irises, he didn’t seem to know where he was. ‘ _Light!’_

The rest of the sounds that Augus made were panicked, frightened things that spilled out of his mouth on every breath. His face was a rictus of fear, teeth bared. Gwyn lunged off the bed, to the door, and turned on the overhead light. The room wasn’t dark, there were lamps, and Gwyn didn’t even know if the overhead light would be enough.

He rushed back to Augus’ side immediately, who had – in response to the light appearing overhead – pressed his face into the bed and covered his head with his hands.

‘I’ll do anything,’ Augus said, voice thin and desperate.

‘Augus,’ Gwyn said, frightened. He placed both his hands on Augus’ shoulders, and Augus jerked beneath him, shrank under the touch. ‘Augus, it’s Gwyn.’

‘I just would like not to be left in the dark anymore,’ Augus said, his voice smaller than Gwyn had ever heard it. Augus turned his head to the side, a little, and stared up at Gwyn through tear-glazed eyes. His face screwed up when he saw who it was, and he pressed his face down into the blankets again.

‘I told you to leave,’ Augus said, but his voice was still fragile, and Gwyn clambered onto the bed, tucking the blanket around him again.

‘I couldn’t leave.’ Gwyn sat down next to him and pressed an arm around Augus’ side, pulling him closer unconsciously. ‘I heard disturbing things today. I don’t like any of this.’

‘ _What_ could he have told you if he doesn’t remember anything!’ Augus said, voice rising in distress. He didn’t seem to mind Gwyn’s arm, and so Gwyn tightened his grip and leaned over Augus, wishing he could cover him from whatever it was that tormented him. He knew he couldn’t, but he couldn’t help himself. ‘And you know enough, don’t you? Forcing those shadows into me, doing what _he_ did. How clever you must have felt, how _clever_ you were, doing-’

Gwyn’s eyes had widened.

‘Augus, what?’ he said. Pitch hadn’t made any mention that Augus had been possessed by the shadows before.

‘Oh, don’t pretend you didn’t _know,’_ Augus choked, shuddering. ‘And by the seventh time, possessed by those _things,_ I-’

‘Augus, what are you talking about? Seven times? Pitch said he wouldn’t have survived a third possession.’

Augus started to laugh. It was a despairing sound. Gwyn felt horror stick thick in his throat, it tasted like bile and he swallowed it down.

‘Did he?’ Augus’ voice was wet. ‘Did he? Oh, that’s what you _think._ That’s what you become sure of. After the second time. You think you will not survive again. After all, this darkness comes in and takes your mind away, and leaves you an abyss so deep it cannot be fathomed. And when it leaves you, there is, there are _parts_ of you missing. You feel it. As though vertebrae and ribs and joints had been removed, and you are still expected to function, to be somehow whole. After the second time you do think it will kill you. The terror sinks in. You do not want it to ever happen _again.’_

Augus shifted so that he was bracing himself on Gwyn’s folded legs, his forehead pushed into Gwyn’s shin.

‘And that is when you will do _anything.’_

Augus gagged and his body convulsed, and then he tensed for several long seconds, before gasping for breath. Gwyn pulled him closer, and the way Augus went with the movement worried him as much as the words themselves.

‘Seven times,’ Gwyn said, staring down at Augus, eyes wide. ‘How long?’

‘An hour is long enough!’ Augus shouted, and then laughed. ‘But two weeks, four weeks. Sometimes I would come back and be in a different place, and I wouldn’t...I wouldn’t remember what I’d done. I’ll never remember. And _he...’_

Augus laughed, and the sound turned into a wave of silent sobs. Gwyn reached up with one of his hands and tangled it in Augus’ hair, feeling his breathing come faster. He knew Augus was scared of the dark, knew he was terrified of the living shadows, but it had simply never occurred to him that the Nightmare King might force possession upon him. Let alone so many times.

‘But it had to be worth it,’ Augus muttered, his voice suddenly calm, deeper. ‘It had to be. I think of Ash going through a day of that, and I...’

Gwyn laid down carefully, pushing himself down the bed and bending his knees, pulling Augus into him. Augus tensed again, then went limp.

‘You want to know what else he did,’ Augus said, voice weak. ‘I know, I know you do. I’ll tell you what to do. Brainstorm a list of things you can imagine the Nightmare King doing to someone, and underline _everything_ , and bring that to me, and I’ll tell you what you’ve _missed.’_

‘Augus...’ Gwyn said.

‘I was only underfae,’ Augus whispered. ‘I was nothing to him. But my reputation had been growing and perhaps he heard of me and thought that he had...a kindred spirit. I do not, I don’t, perhaps that’s what I hoped. I don’t...remember. I sent him away. I compelled him away. He was offensive. But he came _back._ ’

Gwyn pulled Augus closer, and Augus pressed his head into Gwyn’s arm. Augus seemed to be focusing on his breathing. He would inhale, pause, and then exhale with the forced, shaky slowness of someone trying to calm himself down. Augus felt slight beneath him. It was horribly easy to imagine him as an underfae, concerned for his brother – as he would be – and attempting to stand up to what he couldn’t have known was one of the most formidable and lethal villains either Kingdom had ever seen. Augus would have had no idea. Gwyn had felt the strength of the Nightmare King himself, experienced a single nightmare at his hands, experienced his ability to drive fear into the hearts of those who looked at him...

Gwyn shuddered.

Augus’ breathing was starting to become shallow, and Gwyn felt a wave of dread move through him.

‘Don’t disappear,’ Gwyn whispered. ‘Please.’

‘I want to,’ Augus said, his voice faint. ‘Let me. It’s never for...very long.’

But Gwyn knew that it could be a long time. He knew that Augus didn’t think a few hours was a long time to be lost in catatonia. He didn’t think catatonia was good for _anyone._ He raised his hand and folded it around Augus’ head, tilting his head up so he could see his expression. Already, Augus was staring blankly at some point on Gwyn’s collarbone.

‘Augus...’

Augus didn’t respond. He was lost already, breathing shallow but even, gaze blank.

Gwyn stared at him, dismayed, and then leaned forwards and pressed a gentle kiss, mouth closed against his lips. It was barely more than a light touch.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered. ‘I should have let you have your lie.’

When he pulled back, Augus was staring at him. It gave Gwyn a jolt to see him alert already, and he realised that Augus hadn’t sunk as deep as he’d thought he had.

‘Yes,’ Augus said. ‘You should have.’

His fingers shifted on Augus’ head absently, he frowned.

‘You’re not very good at comforting someone, are you?’ Augus said, voice very crisp, given how quiet it was. The words were designed to be cutting, and Gwyn – not prepared for them – felt them as a blow.

‘No, I...’ Gwyn closed his eyes briefly. Augus was right, of course. ‘You’re correct. And you did say...I know I shouldn’t have come back. I don’t have a right to see you like this.’

Gwyn pushed himself upright quickly, started to ease off the bed, when he felt a hand encircle his wrist. He paused and looked back. Augus was staring at him, his expression unfathomable. Seconds passed and then Augus tugged on his wrist again, indicating that he should come back. He said nothing, but there was something in Augus’ eyes that indicated that he hadn’t meant it. Augus frowned and tugged again, more insistently.

When Gwyn came back, Augus kept tugging until Gwyn lay down, stilted, next to him.

‘You stayed while I slept,’ Augus murmured. ‘How very stalker-esque of you.’

Gwyn grimaced.

‘I was concerned.’

‘Sleep is a very threatening state, after all,’ Augus mocked, and then stroked a finger down Gwyn’s chest, through his bloodstained shirt. ‘Kiss me again.’

Gwyn blinked at him, but Augus didn’t seem to be laying a trap, and so Gwyn leaned forwards. He kept his lips closed once more, didn’t want to turn it into something sexual, simply wanted to feel the texture of Augus’ lips against his. He made soft, gentle contact and withdrew slightly, before doing it again, lingering. Augus opened his mouth beneath Gwyn’s, and Gwyn drew backwards, licking his lips and feeling uncomfortable.

‘It is odd,’ Augus said, reaching up and tracing Gwyn’s lips with the tips of his fingers. Gwyn’s eyes widened at the contact. He shifted back, and Augus lowered his hand. ‘But I think that actually comes quite naturally to you.’

Gwyn said nothing, and Augus pushed himself upright and pressed a closed mouth to Gwyn’s. He stayed for several seconds, kept his eyes on Gwyn’s, and then dragged his lips sideways so he could kiss the side of his mouth. When he dragged his lips back, Gwyn became aware that he was breathing faster. He withdrew again, and Augus stared at him.

‘Sometimes I wonder, Gwyn, who you actually are.’

Gwyn blinked at him and then shook his head.

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘You fuck like a draught horse in heat, but you kiss like...’ Augus’ lips quirked into a half-smile, and he pushed himself up, letting the blanket fall off his shoulders. ‘Turn over.’

Gwyn’s mouth fell open and he shook his head.

‘Augus, after the night you’ve just had, and-’

‘No,’ Augus said, shifting on the bed with a litheness that belied the shaking and fragility from earlier. He slid open a drawer and withdrew a small vial of lubricant, holding it up, an unashamed gleam in his green eyes. ‘If you don’t want me to fall into nothingness, at least let me have this.’

Gwyn realised that  Augus was serious, and he remembered, also, that Augus had tried to reassert his dominance before. Gwyn had denied him last time, deeply uncomfortable, but...would it help? Augus raised a single, arched brow and then moved forwards and grasped Gwyn’s jaw between his fingers, sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. Gwyn made a small noise of shock, and Augus hummed in appreciation, slanting his mouth over Gwyn’s and sliding his tongue inside.

Gwyn didn’t kiss back straight away, still surprised. Augus’ breath huffed against him, a sign of his amusement, and then he slid his fingers up into Gwyn’s hair and thrust his tongue deep, swallowing Gwyn’s moan and smoothing his thumb over Gwyn’s ear. When Augus withdrew, Gwyn’s mouth stayed open. He licked the taste of Augus from the inside of his mouth, and shivered when he saw the way Augus was looking at him.

‘Normally I tell you to strip,’ Augus said, ‘But your clothing’s already a mess, so this won’t matter, will it? Turn over.’

Gwyn hated how quickly it came over him, the desire to do what Augus said, to obey. He looked at Augus one more time, checking, uncertain if this was going to make things worse, and then pushed himself onto his stomach. He winced as his hip made contact with the bed. Augus placed a hand on the back of Gwyn’s pants and pulled hard, exposing Gwyn’s ass to the air. Gwyn ground his teeth together and resisted the urge to turn around and push Augus off the bed.

‘You like submitting,’ Augus said, ‘But you don’t like this position, I’ve noticed.’

Augus pulled Gwyn’s pants until they were tangled around an ankle, and left them. He placed his hands on Gwyn’s thighs and pulled his legs apart, moving into the space between them. He then folded his hands around Gwyn’s hips, his left hand careful not to press directly into the wounds he’d created earlier. He lifted, and Gwyn frowned.

‘Up,’ Augus said. ‘Arch up for me.’

Gwyn bent his spine, pushed himself up so that he was braced on his knees, though he didn’t get properly onto all fours. He did _not_ like that position. Augus smoothed his hands up Gwyn’s thighs until one could feather a too-light touch across his balls, and the other could palm him. He wasn’t hard yet, but if Augus kept touching him like that...

Augus’ other hand trailed down and stroked the inside of his thigh over and over again, and Gwyn pressed his face into the blankets, because it felt good, because his face was flushing with a mix of embarrassment and arousal. The room was thick with the scent of blood and the aftermath of Augus’ fear.

‘Move your head to the side, so I can hear you,’ Augus said, command thick in his voice, even though it was obvious he was still tired. Gwyn hesitated, and Augus’ hands paused on his skin. Gwyn thought about how he was still wounded from earlier, how easy it would be for Augus to do that again, and how much he didn’t want to disappoint. He turned his head reluctantly to the side, and Augus’ hands returned, colder than usual, but warming up with the contact.

‘Is this helping?’ Gwyn said, and Augus slid along his back until he could nose the side of Gwyn’s head. He took Gwyn’s wrist and moved it out a little, then pressed it into the bed, sighing.

‘Fucking the King of the Seelie Court always helps, I find.’

Gwyn rolled his eyes.

Augus slid back, squeezing Gwyn’s wrist almost affectionately before sliding his hands down Gwyn’s side, and ending up back between his legs. He moved one hand away, opened the vial, and Gwyn turned his head back into the bed without even thinking about it.

‘Gwyn,’ Augus said, a warning. Gwyn realised what he’d done and turned his head to the side again, gritting his teeth together. Augus’ fingers slid slick over his ass and then dipped between, stroking with an almost idle curiosity. Gwyn swallowed down the noise that caught in his throat and felt a tension along the top of his spine, the back of his neck. He didn’t want to disappoint Augus, but he felt exposed.

‘You have your way of dealing with things, and I have mine,’ Augus said.

Gwyn opened his mouth to comment on Augus’ way of dealing with things, when he felt a finger push and then press inside, breaching him. He opened his mouth on a breath, fist tightening into the bedspread. He was sensitive. It had been some time since Augus had taken him, and that-

Gwyn groaned when Augus started moving his finger in and out, in a slow, compelling rhythm. His other hand curled around and was teasing the base of his cock. It was an idle, relaxed touch. There was no rhythm to that. But still, the combined contact, along with Augus leaning over his lower back, caused warmth to spike through him, and he started to get hard. His head started to twist back towards the blankets and Augus stopped all movement again.

‘You just can’t help it, can you?’ Augus murmured, as Gwyn forced his head back. ‘And fuck, you are tight. Open for me, Gwyn. Relax.’

Gwyn’s mouth opened on a sharp inhale when Augus pressed back with two fingers. There was a stretch, a burn, and Gwyn’s brow furrowed as Augus pushed deeper, hand stroking teasing lines up and down his cock. The contact was not enough, not enough to distract him from what Augus was doing, and Augus must have known it.

‘Gwyn,’ Augus crooned, amused. ‘what do you want?’

Gwyn blinked, confused, finding it hard to tear away from the focal point of Augus’ fingers moving deeper inside him. He didn’t know what he wanted. He couldn’t recall Augus ever asking him the question before.

‘I don’t...know,’ Gwyn said, and Augus paused, then took Gwyn’s cock in a firm grip and stroked him firmly, easily. Gwyn started to moan, stifled it when he realised that Augus could hear everything.

Augus removed his hand from Gwyn’s cock again, frustrating him with the lack of contact. He moved so that he was no longer between Gwyn’s legs, shifting so that he could slide back up Gwyn’s body again, fingers pushing deeper automatically with the shift. Gwyn’s mouth opened on a silent moan. Augus rested his head alongside Gwyn’s and looked at him.

‘Kiss me,’ Augus said, ‘the way you do it.’

Gwyn tried to concentrate. Augus’ fingers were deep inside of him, they shifted from time to time. There was nothing rhythmic about it, but every movement snagged his concentration and made him painfully aware that at some point, soon, Augus was going to fuck him again. That, at some point, that had become something he allowed, even wanted. It wasn’t even something he was supposed to let happen at all.

He leaned forwards to distract himself from his thoughts and pressed shaking lips to Augus’, keeping his mouth closed, rubbing his lips back and forth the way Augus had earlier. He carefully drew Augus’ bottom lip between his and held it there. It felt good, and Augus let him, didn’t push for anything else.

But Augus did withdraw his fingers and push back firmly, and the breath exploded out of Gwyn’s lungs. His eyes flew open, and Augus was watching him, something hungry on his face.

‘Keep kissing me,’ Augus said, and Gwyn shivered. His body felt taut, but a heat was spreading through him, and it was becoming harder to focus. He leaned forwards and grunted when Augus started fucking him with his fingers. ‘Again.’

‘Augus,’ Gwyn groaned, and Augus smiled against his lips.

‘Again,’ Augus said.

Gwyn pressed his lips to Augus’ and cried out when Augus slid his fingers back and deliberately stretched Gwyn’s entrance. He shifted his legs unconsciously, felt an ache blossom in the base of his spine.

‘Gwyn, concentrate,’ Augus said, and Gwyn could hear the indulgent smile in his voice.

Gwyn kissed Augus clumsily, aware of the fingers moving almost constantly now, aware of how hard he was. He shifted on the bed, tried to make himself more comfortable, and only succeeded in making himself aware of the heat that was growing inside of him. His mouth opened on a gasp when Augus added a third finger, the tip sliding in, and he turned his head into the blankets and cried out.

Augus withdrew his fingers immediately, leaving Gwyn feeling empty, wanting.

‘Gwyn,’ Augus said, and Gwyn shook his head. Augus wanted him to be vocal, but Gwyn had never felt comfortable doing that either. He hadn’t realised that Augus would want him to do so many things that he found uncomfortable. ‘Turn your head back. Kiss me.’

Gwyn turned his head to the side again, and Augus’ fingers returned immediately, stroking outside his entrance. Gwyn’s lips thinned.

‘You’re doing this on purpose,’ Gwyn said, voice deep, and Augus blinked at him with a faux innocence, and then smirked.

‘Kiss me again,’ Augus coaxed.

Gwyn lifted his hand where it was pressed against the bed, and touched the underside of Augus’ jaw, pleased when he heard a single exhale less even than the rest. He kissed Augus gently, and then moaned against his mouth when Augus slid two fingers back into him completely, followed by the tip of the third, playing around his entrance.

‘Augus,’ Gwyn said, and Augus hummed against his mouth, kissing back. He licked his way into Gwyn’s mouth and then traced a slow, firm circle over Gwyn’s tongue, as he pushed his third finger inside. Gwyn’s voice broke, and Augus swallowed each sound he made, each shaking exhale, each noise that Gwyn wanted to hide. He wanted Augus inside of him, he wanted to come, he didn’t want Augus’ mouth to leave his. He opened his mouth wider and Augus made a noise of approval and kissed him deeply, a thorough claiming that stole Gwyn’s breath and left him feeling boneless, stuck to the bed.

Augus withdrew and gazed at him, a sleepy lust in his expression.

‘Don’t push your face back into the blankets again,’ Augus said.

He pressed his lips to Gwyn’s, a lingering, closed-mouthed touch that finished with a swipe of tongue against his lips, and then Augus slid back down again, moving between his legs.

Gwyn didn’t know what he expected, as he lay, dazed and wanting. But he didn’t expect Augus to withdraw his fingers and then simply push into him without slicking himself up.

Gwyn cried out a sound of shock at the stretch of it, the suddenness. Augus was stroking soothing lines down the outside of his thigh but still pushing deeper. Gwyn was trying to catch his breath, but it had been a long time, and Augus didn’t pause, didn’t wait for him to catch up, only took what he wanted. Before Augus had already pushed all the way inside of him, the ache in his lower back spread, and Gwyn fisted the blankets with both of his hands.

He started to turn his head back into the blankets only to be stopped by a hand fisting up in his hair and pushing down.

‘I want to hear you,’ Augus snapped.

It was too much, and Gwyn groaned as Augus settled, his hips flush against his ass, hand stroking his thigh with firm, reassuring movements. The hand in his hair withdrew and came back, grasping his hip, fingers caressing his skin. Augus shifted, flexed, and Gwyn felt full, consumed, he gasped for breath and Augus patted his hip with something that was almost affection before his fingers dug bruises into his skin.

Augus withdrew almost the whole way out, plunged back in, friction a flare of heat and nerves and almost-pain that started where Augus was buried inside of him and ended at his neck. Augus’ rhythm was fast and precise, each downstroke ending with the same twist of his hips, each withdrawal dragging back on a tilt and making it harder for Gwyn to catch his breath, before Augus returned and stole it from him again. The hand on his thigh tugged his leg further out, until he felt it as another ache, tendons pulling tight.

‘Good?’ Augus said, sounding entirely too even and smooth for Gwyn’s liking, given that he was finding it harder and harder to keep his voice under his control. Augus sounded like he knew exactly how good it was.

‘ _Yes,’_ Gwyn cried out, and moaned softly when Augus dragged his palm from the back of Gwyn’s thigh, over his ass, and then down his ribs in one long, firm stroke. ‘Don’t stop.’

‘I have no intention of stopping,’ Augus said, as though he was offended at the very thought.

After that, Augus didn’t speak, focusing on what he was doing, dragging Gwyn’s focus along with him. And Gwyn, aware that this was happening in Augus’ bed, in his rooms, in Gwyn’s palace, found his mind dizzied and hung onto the bed, beyond wondering if it was helping Augus, taken up with the sparks and whirls of light that were flashing behind his eyelids. The light wasn’t too close, but it was closer, it was always brought closer at times like this. It was a cascade of energy rippling up close to his skin, it turned everything to heat and a pulsing light that seemed snagged on every one of Augus’ movements.

Gwyn realised that if Augus kept this up, he was going to come without a hand on his cock. And Augus didn’t seem to want him to last, didn’t seem interested in holding him back.

Augus shifted his hand under Gwyn’s shirt and pinched his nipple, slammed deep, rolling his hips. Gwyn shouted, sensation cresting in him, a sharp point that overwhelmed. He came, Augus holding him firmly in place as his hips strained through the movements of it. His legs shook  from it, and Augus rubbed at the healing marks on his chest, came back and grazed his nipple with the edge of his claws, said nothing as Gwyn whimpered.

Before the aftershocks were over, Augus had started moving again. Deep, short thrusts that undulated inside of him. And Gwyn, tight again from the strength of his release, whined and started to pull away, over sensitive.

Immediately, Augus pulled him back, fingers curling around his shoulder, his hips.

‘I said,’ Augus said, voice still even, ‘that I had no intention of stopping, didn’t I?’

_Oh gods._

‘Augus,’ Gwyn said, pleading.

‘Come now, Gwyn, it’s not so bad. You’ll catch up eventually.’

The thrusts continued, picking up pace, and Gwyn heard his voice break, closed his mouth around the sounds that wanted to tumble forth. But the pace was too fast, even rough, and the sounds came anyway, finding their way out when Gwyn had to catch his breath, struggled to gasp around the hugeness of what he felt.

Minutes passed and Gwyn felt that he was just hanging on, his fingers sore where they clutched the bed, his legs aching from how spread they were. At one point he’d gone to move them, and Augus had tightened his grip, a clear indication that Gwyn was supposed to keep them spread.  His pants were still tangled around his ankle, his shirt was still stuck to certain places on his chest, and Augus hadn’t stripped at all, shirt fluttering against the top of his ass, one side of the hem of Augus’ pants occasionally buffeting against his balls. Gwyn whined, and Augus chuckled to hear the sound, sneaking his fingers up through the collar of Gwyn’s shirt and rubbing at his throat.

Augus’ hand trailed down again as he changed the pace once more; longer, smoother strokes, and he dragged the pads of his fingers through the come on Gwyn’s belly, catching the warmth until he could wrap fingers around Gwyn’s cock and start moving in time with the rhythm. Gwyn forgot that he was supposed to be keeping his head turned to the side, his face pressed down into the mattress and he choked a series of sounds.

‘I want to hear you,’ Augus said, his voice a little ragged now, lacking the smoothness of before. The hand around his cock tightened to the point of pain, and Gwyn – reluctant, obedient – moved his head to the side. Immediately, Augus went back to stroking him, and Gwyn husked out a cry that was as wrecked as he felt. Augus made a sound of approval in response.

Gwyn didn’t know how much time passed before he started to get hard again, lost in the sparks of feeling that rippled along his body, that turned his spine into a conductor. He moved his own hips backwards involuntarily and then Augus encouraged him to keep doing it, the hand on his hip guiding him until Gwyn followed Augus’ rhythm. He didn’t know how much time passed from getting hard, to feeling like he could come again, but it was a time punctuated with his body being rocked against the bed and Augus confident and breathing growing louder above him, a sign that he was getting close as well.

He half-expected Augus to say something as he felt himself wind up once more, his muscles coiling with tension. But Augus said nothing at all, his breathing occasionally punctuated with the odd, low sound of pleasure that reminded Gwyn of just how in control he still was. This wasn’t the Augus he had taken apart with slow movements and caresses, this was the Augus who stayed relatively detached, the pleasure an afterthought building inside of him. Gwyn by contrast felt raw, exposed, stripped down. The friction and heat of Augus inside of him consumed his thoughts.

His voice deserted him towards the end, as he needed the air more than anything. That was when he knew he was going to come again, a pierce of heat spreading a painful pleasure through him, starting at his cock, drawing up in his balls. He managed the beginning of Augus’ name three times before finally saying it, a weak acknowledgement.

When he came the second time, the light was a pinwheel of sparks whirling throughout his entire body. Augus stroked him through it, murmuring something that Gwyn didn’t catch through the thundering race of his own blood.

Augus abruptly let go of his cock and roughly wiped Gwyn’s come off his hand, smearing it onto Gwyn’s belly. He jerked Gwyn’s shirt up, hiking it up over his back, and then withdrew quickly, roughly, Gwyn’s voice breaking at the movement. Augus moaned quietly and Gwyn’s eyes opened in realisation when he felt the movement of Augus jerking himself off over Gwyn’s back.

At the first stripe of hot fluid over Gwyn’s spine, they both moaned. Gwyn slumped down to the bed, and Augus came on his back, one hand still holding his hip. When Augus was done, he paused for a few moments to catch his breath, and then idly dragged his fingers through the come on Gwyn’s skin. Gwyn was shocked, exhausted. He couldn’t quite believe that Augus had done that, didn’t know what he felt about it. He’d wanted to feel Augus come inside of him, but there was something oddly compelling about the way Augus dragged his fingers through his own release, reminding Gwyn of what he’d done.

‘You are a _mess,’_ Augus purred, and then surged up over Gwyn’s body and pulled his head back with the come covered fingers that tangled in his hair, slanting his mouth over Gwyn’s and licking up sensuously over his teeth, his tongue, the roof of his mouth. Gwyn was already out of breath when Augus started, and his eyes were closed and his mouth slack when Augus stopped, lying alongside him.

Gwyn didn’t move when he felt Augus cover them both with the blanket. His body was sticky with sweat and come and blood, but he didn’t want to move, just yet.

‘I can’t believe you did that,’ Gwyn managed, and Augus laughed deep in his chest.

‘You’ll let me do it again,’ Augus said, and Gwyn closed his mouth around a denial that he knew was a lie.

‘Did...it help?’ Gwyn said, and Augus didn’t reply. Gwyn opened his eyes and Augus was watching him, a quiet, sober expression on his face.

‘It helped,’ Augus said. But there was something off about the statement, something not quite true in it. Maybe it had helped in the moment, but Augus still looked worn and disturbed, behind that serious gaze. Gwyn reached out with a tired hand and found Augus’ arm beneath the blanket. He squeezed his wrist in what he hoped was reassurance and watched him.

‘None of that now,’ Augus said, moving his arm away, eyebrows knitting together.

‘Am I doing it wrong?’ Gwyn said, confused. Augus stared at him, incredulous, and then sighed.

‘Gwyn, this...’ Augus looked up at the ceiling briefly, and then his mouth twisted. ‘Ash couldn’t help. What makes you think that you...’

_What makes you think that you could?_

Gwyn told himself that those words didn’t hurt, because there was nothing that would ever compare to how Augus felt for his brother. Nothing. And he could expect no good feeling from Augus at all. This...civility, whatever it was that they had, it was unexpected, Gwyn knew it was wrong to mistake it for anything other than what it was.

‘Ash, though,’ Augus said softly. ‘Once I had them, I didn’t know what to do with them.’

Gwyn narrowed his eyes in confusion. He had no idea what Augus was talking about. Augus looked down at the bed and then drew a pillow down, pulling the blanket up over his shoulders. He shook his head and smiled at some private joke. It was a bitter smile.

‘Ash took some of the darkness and managed to still be _Ash._ And for a brief...for a while, that left me with more questions than answers.’

Gwyn held still, careful not to break the spell that seemed to have charmed Augus into talking about any of this. He was also surprised at what Augus was revealing. That he would compare himself to Ash in that way, when it was so obvious that the only reason that Ash and the Nain Rouge weren’t taken over and _possessed_ by the shadows was because they had knowingly received them. It was obvious, from what had happened to Pitch, to Augus, that when they were forced upon someone, the shadows took over whatever consciousness existed and dragged it down, shoved it away.

‘I knew I was in trouble,’ Augus said, smiling up at Gwyn. ‘He came back, and I was not prepared. I had not...foreseen...’

‘The Nightmare King’s return,’ Gwyn confirmed and Augus’ gaze became vague, and then snapped back to the present. ‘Did he hurt you again?’

‘At first, no. He only indicated that he knew of my fear, and that he was pleased I remembered him so well. I fell into a role I’d fallen into a long time ago and...Ash noticed. He...interfered. The Nightmare King noticed _Ash._ I couldn’t tolerate...it was intolerable. I had to do something, I suppose.’

‘He _did_ hurt you again,’ Gwyn said, angry at the thought, and Augus bristled, tensed. He pushed himself upright and started to move away, and Gwyn reached out quickly, stopped him with a hand on his hip.

‘Are you _done?’_ Augus said, voice sharp.

‘I’m done,’ Gwyn said.

‘Push me on this, and I will-’

‘I’m done,’ Gwyn said again. ‘I...’

‘What?’ Augus said, staring at him with a coldness that reminded Gwyn that he was in too deep. He only wanted to help, and Augus wanted...his freedom. Ash. Other things. Gwyn moved his hand up Augus’ side and rested his hand over his ribs.

‘I could kiss you again,’ Gwyn said, wanting to wince at himself as soon as he said it.

‘You-’ Augus opened his mouth, ready to say something cutting, and then seemed to think the better of it. His expression cleared of its coldness and his eyes held something quieter, uncertain.

‘You like it,’ Gwyn said, ‘I don’t really know why.’

Augus swallowed, and then leaned forwards, watching Gwyn with lidded eyes.

‘Go on, then,’ Augus said, a quiet challenge in his voice.

Gwyn reached up with the hand that was under the blanket and stroked the pulse he could see moving steadily at Augus’ neck. His fingers crept up and curved along the underside of Augus’ ear. He stroked slowly, not just gently, and Augus mouth tightened, as though he was offended that Gwyn had affected him.

He pressed his lips against Augus’ and closed his eyes to avoid that critical gaze. He stroked his fingers back down Augus’ neck and traced his collarbone with a slow, measured pace. He startled when he found his hand stilled. Augus had grabbed him roughly by the wrist.

‘You’re learning,’ Augus said, and Gwyn stared at him.

‘I want to,’ he said.

‘Why?’

Gwyn’s chest tightened. _Why?_ He wanted to. He liked Augus. His heart twisted up into a complicated mess about it, and he couldn’t afford to think about it much, but...

He leaned forwards and kissed Augus again, not wanting to confront things that were too complex for him to unravel. Augus kept his hand on his wrist, but Gwyn didn’t care, lingering against his lips. He liked the way Augus’ breath fell against his skin. Augus went to withdraw after the second kiss and Gwyn followed the movement, using Augus’ grip on his wrist to push Augus back into the bed. He leaned over him, pressing gentle, chaste kisses to his lips. One after the other.

He became aware of Augus’ growing discomfort and kissed his way up to Augus’ cheek.

‘If you want, I’ll blood-oath it,’ Gwyn said, voice rough. ‘I’ll blood-oath never to do that to you again.’

Augus inhaled sharply, and Gwyn kissed his way back down Augus’ cheek again. Augus believed in blood-oaths, and through that, Gwyn could offer something that might actually help. Not only that, he didn’t ever want to see Augus in the dark again. And he hadn’t needed it to defeat him once. Even if there was ever a way that Augus could spiral out of control again, Gwyn would not do that to him. Not again.

‘You really would,’ Augus said, thoughtful. And when Gwyn pressed a kiss to the side of his mouth, Augus sighed. His whole body went lax, and Gwyn only then realised how much tension Augus had still been holding in his body. It came as a shock, and he moved his wrist out of Augus’ fingers and reached up to stroke his palm down Augus’ hair.

‘I would,’ Gwyn said, withdrawing. ‘I could oath it right now.’

He didn’t want to though. Not yet. He was sore, tired. And Augus was tugging him down, encouraging him to rest. When Gwyn rested his head properly against a pillow, Augus reached out and tugged on a loose lock of Gwyn’s hair. It sprang back into place, and Augus watched it, an unfathomable expression on his face once more.

‘Not right now,’ Augus said, pensive. ‘It doesn’t have to be right now. You should rest.’

‘And you,’ Gwyn said, and Augus smiled a quiet agreement. After several uncertain minutes passed, Augus closed his eyes and tugged Gwyn closer. Gwyn sensed the turbulence beneath the surface of Augus, but it was held at bay, and Gwyn was long familiar with internal discordance. He rested his hand against Augus’ chest, felt the thump of his heart. He felt his own heartbeat slow in response to feeling that lazy beat. He closed his eyes, fisting Augus’ shirt into his hand.

He was sleepy and surprised when Augus started quietly stroking fingers through Gwyn’s hair. The touch was soothing, calming, and when Gwyn sighed at how warm it felt, Augus pressed closer and pushed his head underneath Gwyn’s cheek, burrowing between his face and the pillow.

‘Rest,’ Augus said again, voice muffled. Gwyn nodded, a doze stealing over him before he could form a response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, 'Roleplay:'
> 
> ‘You’re good at this,’ Augus said. ‘Who knew that you would make such a meek prisoner? I expected some fight from you. You were, after all, once the King of the Seelie fae, were you not?’


	21. Roleplay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New Tags: Knifeplay, Roleplay, Questionable Consent (consent is obviously given, but Gwyn is not capable of making informed consent when he gives it).
> 
> *
> 
> Just as Gwyn had a chapter where he kind of snapped because of internal and external pressures, so Augus is having his own moment. The next chapter following this will be an Augus perspective, and then we're moving officially into Act 3, which is all about Gwyn, his past, and where he might be headed in his future.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's sending messages on Tumblr, kudosing, bookmarking, etc. And for those who are commenting: *huuuuuuugs* (er if you want hugs)

Gwyn could tell that Augus was uneasy, overall, after he’d revealed more of what the Nightmare King had done. It was in the small things. Augus would watch him longer, more warily, when he thought Gwyn wasn’t looking. There were times when he didn’t seem to be concentrating on what was happening around him. Once, Gwyn had walked past a room filled with books and scrolls on strategy, and then backtracked when he realised that Augus was just standing, staring through lidded eyes at a shelf and not really seeing any of the items on there at all. He’d watched for several minutes, until Augus became aware of his presence. Augus had blinked up at him then, raised an arch eyebrow and said:

‘Did you want something?’

‘Did you? Do you need help finding something?’

Augus had looked at the shelf and the books upon it as though seeing it for the first time and then shrugged noncommittally.

Gwyn felt he should say something else, but didn’t know what to say. In the end he had departed and left Augus in the room. It had made him uncomfortable to do so, but he doubted Augus would talk about the Nightmare King again, and he doubted that Augus would respond to questions about his state of mind. He’d learned enough and could fill in the blanks himself. If Augus ever wanted to talk about it, Gwyn would listen, but...Augus didn’t talk about those things.

Gwyn realised, one morning, as he polished up his armour and buffed out scratches, that he was in the odd position of wanting to do something to help him. It was more than wanting justice. He put down the vambrace carefully and closed his eyes. He was Augus’ captor, and he didn’t want to be. Beneath that, he had become someone who wanted to see Augus whole and...free.

He knew that Augus was simply using him as a way of passing the time in captivity.

When Gwyn went to training at mid-morning, he didn’t stop sparring and fighting until his muscles trembled with fatigue six hours later. Not many people – even his own soldiers – could spar with him for long; he was too strong, and too vicious when he got in the right frame of mind. A long time ago he’d commissioned a Mage to create artificial soldiers that could be called forth from three magical spheres. They had cost a small fortune, but Gwyn had won many campaigns, and amassed a vast wealth that he had almost no use for.

They had been programmed with strategy and different fighting techniques, could wield many different weapons, and they were constructed to adapt and grow in strength as Gwyn did. They were now the only soldiers he could fight at length without holding himself back; but they were brutal and mindless. After the fourth hour they started knocking him down, sightless eyes staring over him.

Time and time again he got up, fought them. All three at once, for as long as he could. Some of his own soldiers had come and gone, watching him for an hour, leaving after a while. There were often spectators at his training sessions, those who wished to see how he fought without having to step into the dangers of a battlefield. Those who wished to learn. Gwyn didn’t see what they had to learn. There was very little of sophistication in Gwyn’s fighting style; his general method was ‘get the job done as quickly as possible.’

He got up, and one of the magicked warriors changed his weapon from the broadsword to the rapier. He stared at it, was reminded of Augus with his Courtier’s weapon. He’d lost his concentration and been knocked down by one of the magicked warriors behind him, hit so hard he was profoundly grateful for his King’s healing. He sent them back to their spheres and waited for the blood to stop trickling out of the base of his skull. It had just occurred to him that Augus only became proficient in any weapons at all – the rapier, pressure points – because the Nightmare King had broken him into thinking he had to rise up and take over one of the Kingdoms.

It had occurred to him that without any Nightmare King at all, Augus would have stayed within his lake and never learned how to fight beyond his basic waterhorse instincts. He would have lived out his years without knowing any of that world. Gwyn was raised into battle, he was destined for it. But Augus was...

Gwyn pressed his fingers to the back of his head and brought them forwards. The blood was slowing. Absently, arm shaking, he placed his fingertips into his mouth and licked the blood off. An old habit.

In the shower, later, hot water soothing the trembling of his muscles. He let his thoughts drift, but he kept coming back to Augus’ nightmare, Augus crying out for the light in that desperate, broken voice. He hadn’t known Augus could sound like that. Even when he’d been in the Seelie cell, even when Gwyn had been tormenting him, he’d never sounded quite like that. 

And the Nightmare King had returned after and gone into Augus’ Court and everyone, _everyone,_ had thought they were lovers. He remembered hearing one of his messengers tell him that the Nightmare King and Augus had been ensconced away in solitude for several days, after the Nightmare King’s return.

_And they hadn’t been lovers..._

Gwyn scrubbed suds out of his hair, the water pinkish with blood from a wound that had already closed.

It was, around that time, that Augus’ Court had been disbanded. Gwyn’s eyes widened when he realised that the Nightmare King had done it himself. The Nightmare King had destroyed the Nain Rouge. He’d intimidated Greenteeth into leaving. And the Dullahan left soon after that. Had the Nightmare King secretly worked to isolate Augus? Had part of his plan been to oust Augus from the throne, as Augus had ousted the Raven Prince? Gwyn shuddered to think of the Nightmare King as ruler of the Unseelie Kingdom. He wasn’t a true fae, but some of the indestructible powers associated with Kingship would have conferred to him nonetheless.

In the end, Ash was the only one who had stayed.

Gwyn made of a noise of surprise when something else occurred to him. He closed his eyes and leaned up into the hot spray, hoping he was wrong. But Augus had attacked Jack, and then compelled Jack to tell the Nightmare King. He had intended Jack as a _gift._ Had he intended Jack as a _distraction?_ To partially break a spirit and lead him to the arms of his tormenter, as a way of...what? Taking attention off himself? And the use of the word ‘gift’ was interesting now, in retrospect, knowing Augus and the Nightmare King hadn’t been lovers at all. Why present the Nightmare King with a gift, a toy, if not to distract from the other one?

‘By the gods,’ Gwyn breathed, shutting off the shower and stepping out, his muscles more stable than they’d been before.

These were the sorts of things he didn’t like to think about, but his mind refused to let it lie. He wondered if his Court knew that he often looked so distracted, because his mind was pacing down these backwards corners, putting things together, deciding what to do with them, if they were any use to him now.

He had nothing he wanted to do with this, except that he wanted to help somehow. It wasn’t so strange to want to render himself of assistance to others, but to help an individual person, to offer something of himself if it would bring Augus a measure of comfort...

_He is only using you as a way of passing the time._

It didn’t matter. Beneath the guilt and the shame at what he had done himself to contribute to Augus’ state of mind, was a genuine need to make reparation. It was a strange thing to find himself feeling, twinned with an unwanted affection that he was starting to feel whenever he saw Augus in his palace.

Other fae might have sunk themselves into sleep after a training session like that, but Gwyn trained for hours almost every day. And when he wasn’t doing that, and didn’t need to attend to Kingdom tasks, he went mountaineering, spelunking, whatever he could do that might keep him fit and attuned to his environment. He’d recently taken to traversing the canopies of cloud forests, because his lungs and body weren’t used to the high humidity, and it was a challenging environment.

Instead of sleep, he sat down at his work desk and did paperwork quietly. It gave him something else to focus on, and he was glad of it.

*

Two days later, Gwyn was in a chamber off the throne room. He’d finished mediating a dispute between two Seelie fae, and before anyone else could slip into the room, his mother entered. She smiled at him, charmingly, as she sauntered towards him. She sat down in the seat and Gwyn thought sourly that the expression that passed her face as she settled into the chair may have actually been disappointment that she wasn’t settling into a throne, instead.  

After all, if Efnisien could no longer occupy it, then perhaps she wanted to. He’d never understood why she hadn’t angled for the throne before.

‘Darling,’ Crielle said, looking at him from azure eyes, a blue so deep it reminded Gwyn of hot summer days and skies that stretched over empty landscapes. Her eyes were perfectly lined, lashes darkened. She was striking. Even Gwyn knew that. Even without her glamour – which she possessed in natural, unconscious abundance – she was one of the most beautiful fae to have graced the Seelie Court.

Gwyn nodded an acknowledgement at her, and waited. Others saw the beauty, but Gwyn’s heart started pounding a beat of fear whenever she entered a room.

Once, Gwyn had thought that it was he and his father against the evil and calculated malice of his mother. He’d been wrong, of course. Crielle’s cruelty was far more noticeable growing up with her, and Gwyn had always been given reasons to fear her. Even now, grown and able to bring down armies simply by showing up on a battlefield with his sword, she struck fear into his heart.

‘I miss my dear nephew,’ Crielle said, her voice unctuous. She smiled at him, a faux-sympathy stealing over her face. ‘Efnisien was a dear, was he not?’

‘Yes, mother,’ Gwyn said, but his tone said the opposite. He allowed himself these small rebellions, as she allowed herself her cruelties in his own Court.

‘Perhaps we should do something to celebrate his death. Something my dear nephew would have enjoyed. And if you helmed the event, then no one could doubt your love of him.’

‘Do people doubt it?’ Gwyn said coldly, and Crielle allowed a sliver of laughter to fall from her throat.

‘Your Court doubts your ability to feel _any_ emotion other than bloodlust. They do, of course, appreciate your heroism and your ability to face down great evil. But they look into your watery blue eyes, see your thickly hewn body designed for the crudity of battle, and remember you better as a General. A King is supposed to enliven the Court, is he not? You know I only tell you these things to help you.’

Gwyn nodded, but didn’t agree. Crielle was one of his biggest detractors. If people thought him of possessing a weak constitution to be King, she had something to do with it. If his Court remembered him better as a General, it was likely because she wove stories of how his heroism shone on a battlefield and then chose to carefully contrast it with his dour nature in the Court.

‘They would prefer to know of your grief and your willingness to celebrate those who had once been living. What if you were to hold a Wild Hunt in dear Efnisien’s honour? And you’ve not held a Wild Hunt in some time, have you? Would it not be perfect then, to announce your return to the Wild Hunts themselves by launching them off with this special occasion?’

Dread was thick in his throat. It had been sitting there, squatting like a toad, since she had mentioned missing her nephew. Her nephew who had been plotting against Gwyn, and Ash, and Augus.

_Here, then, it comes._

‘Efnisien disdained the hunts. It appalled him that the White Stag came back to life again after being honourably killed.’

‘But of course he did. However, it would never occur to _you_ to hold some other sort of wake for Efnisien, some other celebration that fitted more with his interests. You have not the mind for such a thing. Perhaps, oh and look at me, in the position of advisor once more. Well, a mother must do what she can for her son...’

Crielle sighed, as though Gwyn was a hopeless case. Gwyn waited for the hammer to fall. He had expected this request to come from someone else. Perhaps she couldn’t find someone to pass along her message for her.

‘Even though the Display went so well, and you proved your ability to cow that terrible, _terrible_ monster who has done so much harm to both of the Kingdoms...people still wish to see the Each Uisge dead. Efnisien more than most. Could you not, for one Wild Hunt, designate a very special quarry? After all, just like any deer, he can gallop and flee, fleet of foot, can he not? And as underfae, he would be delightfully vulnerable to any arrow that flew at him.’

Gwyn knew all of this very well himself. It still made him sick to think of it.

‘I am not accountable to you,’ Gwyn said, voice flinty. ‘He is alive, he is cowed...’

_He is most certainly not living in the palace itself and definitely does not have access to my inner rooms and absolutely I have not held him through a nightmare. Or anything else._

In that moment, Gwyn hated himself with a twisted, bizarre clarity.

‘You’re flushing,’ Crielle said. ‘Is he not as cowed as you say?’

Gwyn grit his teeth, opened his mouth to respond, but she cut across him smiling.

‘I’m sure he is! Let us, instead, talk about whether or not you are accountable to me, your mother, who _raised_ you.’

Gwyn took a deep, slow breath. He’d slighted her. He’d slighted her more than his very existence usually did.

‘My darling, call a vote tomorrow and many of the Seelie fae would vote for you to remain in power. Call a vote in ten years, and I’m sure we could say the same. But in twenty or thirty years the balance of power would swing. You made no secret that you never wanted to be King. Some of them feel pity for you. Some of them simply want a King who can entertain them again like before, who will hold the old fertility festivals and be jovial and light of heart. And, my _dear,_ here is something of why you might wish to remember some accountability towards your mother. When you get voted out of this Kingdom, you are free of the yoke you and your _family_ loathe seeing you toil under. Oh, your dear, dear father would chafe to see how you hated it so.

‘So, then, son, you will be voted out eventually. And there is a crude, tch, a crude saying that I can’t quite recall. What was it? When you are not King, and far more mortal than you are now, I believe the saying is _accidents happen.’_

Gwyn’s eyes widened, he stared at her. He hadn’t heard a death threat so explicit from her since he was far younger. Well before he’d ever been King.

‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ Crielle said, affecting a confusion so false that he knew she was practically gleeful. ‘Oh, no, you have misunderstood me! Oh, my poor, paranoid son. Whatever would make you fear such a thing from me, who has always stood in your corner.’

She smiled at him demurely, and Gwyn suppressed his shudder. Now she was just baiting him, and they both knew it. There was nothing Gwyn could say in response to her words. And the one thing he could not do, that he was absolutely within his rights to do, was kick her out of his Court. No one would understand, no one would believe she was like this; and then favour _would_ swing against him. Gwyn forced himself to calm, shoved away the death threat. He could deal with that later. At least it confirmed one thing; the plot against Ash, the plot against Augus, it had been masterminded by his mother, and it was likely designed to get Gwyn off the throne sooner rather than later.

She had always wanted him punished for simply being upon it in the first place. Her primary disappointment, displayed for all the Seelie Court to see.

‘This Wild Hunt idea is intriguing,’ Gwyn said, voice flat. ‘You do know, of course, that he has never attended a single Wild Hunt? I do not understand this fixation of yours, mother, you have not attended one either. I thought you would pick something more...sophisticated.’

_There, let her make it plain what she desires, so that I might be equally plain._

The smile that Crielle offered him was dazzling; from a distance it would have pulled people to her favour. Up close, it was a dead thing, designed to intimidate. Gwyn had seen it often as a child.

‘But _you_ have attended many Wild Hunts, my wild, monstrous son. And, oh, let me remember, was it not the Each Uisge who invited you to them?’

‘This is true,’ Gwyn said, and then decided to place his ace on the table. ‘However, I am aggrieved to inform you that the White Stag will not allow a quarry like the Each Uisge to sully such a sacred, sacrosanct ritual.’

_There._

Gwyn had checked. Gwyn had asked the White Stag about it already. And it turned out that the White Stag – King of the Forest – would not have allowed the Each Uisge to be hunted. It had nothing to do with sullying the ritual. The King of the Forest had an unerring ability to see into the hearts of those he allowed to run the Wild Hunt, and he had said – in no uncertain terms – that he would not allow a soul such as Augus to be run down in his ritual to never get up again. All in all, he was a rather compelling character witness.

‘How do you know this?’ Crielle said. To her credit, she didn’t look disappointed, or remotely put off. ‘Did you _check?’_

_Oh no._

‘Creature, did you _check?_ Why would you check? Not because you wanted him dead yourself, because everyone, and believe me – _everyone –_ knows you do not! Did Efnisien say something to you? Oh, but he is _so_ bad at keeping secrets, isn’t he? My cruel, darling nephew. He cannot help himself.’

Crielle chuckled and it sounded like a death knell. She gazed at him, a hardness creeping over her face, until he swore he could see nothing else but a giant, insatiable beast living inside of her. A beast barely caged by the centre she wore so well. His whole family, Seelie and like _this._ How they had maintained such an influence over the Court for so long...

‘Did you know how strange I found it, how terribly tragic, that he died in the Caves of Argoth? Terribly tragic, given that he has never _been_ there before. But...oh, do correct me if I’m wrong; haven’t you visited the Caves of Argoth many times in the past?’

 _She knows,_ Gwyn realised. Had she known that Gwyn had been involved in his death – somehow – before this, or had she figured it out just now?

‘Efnisien has always been swung towards carefree and reckless ideas, mother,’ Gwyn said quietly. ‘You know this.’

‘And so he has!’ Crielle agreed, sounding almost fervent. But her eyes were accusing, and her nails had dug in – just slightly – into the table.

‘But it was a fair idea,’ Gwyn said, ‘Perhaps I will consider holding a wake here, at the Court. You could organise it, if you wish.’

_Spread more rumours of how I’m better off as a General, and plot some more about how you’re going to put me down._

‘I couldn’t miss my dear cousin more,’ Gwyn said, allowing his voice to fall flatly. The words were correct, but since Crielle _knew_ that Gwyn had been involved in his death – Crielle likely assumed that he had murdered him – Gwyn saw no reason to pretend otherwise. He would say the right words, but he and his mother just as often communicated in inflection, even when it was just the two of them. She would heap her hatred upon him, and he would crawl out from underneath that burden by offering her these small, trite rebellions.

She smiled a glittering hatred at him, and stood up gracefully.

‘Perhaps I will organise that wake.’

Someone else might have thought that they’d won, that they’d somehow gotten a victory over her, but Gwyn knew better. There were plots still swimming in her eyes, and secrets still played at the curve of her mouth. And, at the end of the day, she was working fervently to find a loophole in Gwyn’s dislike of killing captives. If she could get the Court to present him with a valid reason to kill Augus, Gwyn would _have_ to say no, and she was right...favour would turn against him. They were a bloodthirsty lot.

And then he would have to be careful for his life, because at the end of the day, almost all of her plots involving Gwyn, involved filicide as their final outcome.

He’d had more than one reason to get good at strategy, from an early age.

*

Augus was waiting in Gwyn’s room, when Gwyn entered. He was sitting on the desk itself, swinging his legs back and forth idly. He held a length of rope in his hands, and Gwyn stared at it when he entered. He’d had enough adrenaline rushes to last him at least a week, thanks to seeing his mother, and yet adrenaline scored his body again. He could feel his heart beating. Augus looked at him, looked at the rope, looked at him again and smirked.

‘I’d like to play,’ Augus said, something dark in his voice. Gwyn swallowed.

‘Augus, this, I’m not sure if-’

‘Today we’re going back to the cell,’ Augus said, bouncing upright to his feet. There was something in his eyes that Gwyn didn’t quite like, that made him uncomfortable. After his encounter with his mother though, he was positive he was being paranoid.

‘The cell?’ Gwyn said, and Augus took another coil of rope off the table where it had been resting beside him. Then he picked up a small briefcase, expertly worked with black leather, the edges embroidered with a deep scarlet thread. Gwyn stared at it.

‘Tools of the trade,’ Augus said, and his lips lifted in a half-smile.

‘I thought you didn’t like the cell,’ Gwyn said, and felt stupid as soon as he’d said it.

Augus raised his eyebrows and then stepped towards Gwyn, looking more like a hunter than Gwyn could remember seeing in some time.

‘The cell,’ Augus commanded, and then grasped Gwyn’s forearm with a grip that wasn’t quite cruel.

Gwyn transported them without protesting. He was too tired to fight Augus in this, and there was something about Augus which... Would it help him? Would it help him to ‘play?’ And Gwyn thought that he could do with a reason not to think about anything. It might be good to just...obey someone who he could actually please. Gwyn closed his eyes, found the cell through sense.

Augus stepped back from him and then drew out the length of rope once more.

‘Today, you shall be underfae, imprisoned in the cell of the Unseelie King. And I...shall be that King.’

Gwyn’s eyes flew open, and Augus stared at him. There was something hard in his gaze, behind the playfulness of his smile. The mischief seemed...brittle. Gwyn opened his mouth to protest, to say that he wasn’t comfortable with this, but he couldn’t help but wonder – especially now that he knew what Augus wanted – what if this _would_ help Augus? Gwyn knew very well now that Augus liked to get power back for himself by subjugating others, by asserting his dominance.

What better way for a captive to assert his dominance, than to roleplay captor?

Gwyn blew out of a breath.

‘What do you need me to do?’ he said, his voice shakier than he would have liked.

Augus smiled a slow, hungry smile at him.

‘Take your clothes off. Turn your back to me. Cross your arms behind your back at the wrists.’

Gwyn looked around the dimness of the cell. He stared at the walls uneasily as he stripped himself down, shedding his shirt and breeches, kicking off his boots and then lining them up against the wall, surprised that Augus didn’t stop him when he did that. He hadn’t intended it as a way of slowing things down, it was just an old habit. Once naked, he faced the long corridor, glad that he was the only one who could enter the dungeon, glad that no one else could come down here and see them like this.

He moved his arms behind his back, crossed them at the wrists.

Augus tied him quickly and brutally, the cord cutting into his skin. Gwyn made a small sound of protest, but Augus said nothing, only tugging hard on the knots and making sure they were tight. He must have known how painfully he’d bound Gwyn’s wrists, checking like that.

‘You will call me King,’ Augus said, his voice colder.

Gwyn frowned.

‘Augus, I will _not-’_

One hand yanked at his bound wrists, making him stumble backwards, and the other found the pressure points in the vertebrae at his neck and dug down. The pain was excruciating, and Gwyn’s knees buckled, Augus’ hand on his wrists making him fall into a kneeling position, keeping him upright. Pain pulsed through him, blistered through his head. Augus must have held the pressure points down for at least thirty seconds before relenting. By then, Gwyn was gasping, blinking to clear the spots in front of his eyes.

 _'King,’_ Augus said again, and Gwyn shivered.

‘K-ing,’ Gwyn said, closing his eyes. He hadn’t addressed anyone by such a term since the Oak King. Using the word with Augus was unsettling. He bowed his head, tried the word again. ‘King.’

‘And you don’t have a name,’ Augus said, voice practically a purr. ‘You are ‘prisoner,’ do you understand?’

Gwyn blinked at the loamy floor. His vision was still affected by the pressure points, his neck and the back of his head burnt with pain. He knew he could teleport away, knew – possibly – that he should. But after the day he’d had, after realising what he’d realised about Augus’ history. After everything...

Gwyn bowed his head.

‘Yes, King.’

Augus laughed softly, a callous delight in his voice. This reminded him very much of the Augus that had stripped him apart when they’d first met. A colder Augus, one who was attentive, but only insofar as breaking someone down. He stared at the ground, closed his eyes when he felt fingers thread through his hair.

He was prepared for the pull when it came. Augus yanked his head back so that Gwyn was staring up at him, and Augus stared down, curiosity on his face.

‘You’re good at this,’ Augus said. ‘Who knew that you would make such a meek prisoner? I expected some fight from you. You were, after all, once the King of the Seelie fae, were you not?’

Gwyn stared at him, wide-eyed.

_Oh._

‘I asked you a question,’ Augus whispered, and trailed his fingers down Gwyn’s exposed throat.

Gwyn’s heart was a rabbit-thump in his chest. He looked down at the closed case that Augus had brought with him, wondered what was inside.

‘I was, King,’ Gwyn said, voice thin.

‘ _Were,_ past tense. Of course. How clever you must have believed yourself to be, when you conspired with Ash to infest me with those shadows.’

_Oh no._

‘And yet here you are, on your knees in a dungeon, at my mercy. Do you have anything to say for yourself? You had best think of something now, prisoner. I’m not feeling particularly merciful.’

Gwyn opened his mouth, staring up into those green eyes, but words deserted him. He thought about asking for mercy. He thought again about suggesting they stop this, and do something else. But the day had been uncommonly long, and he craved it – he realised – he craved this crueller Augus. He closed his mouth deliberately, and Augus reached up and rubbed the swallow that Gwyn made, dragging the tips of his claws down his trachea.

Augus shoved him down, letting his hair go with a push that – with Gwyn’s wrists tied behind his back – upset his centre of gravity and made it harder to catch himself. Muscle control stopped his head hitting the floor, but it was a move designed to be rough. Gwyn’s heart beat hard.

He wanted to forget. He wanted whatever Augus was offering. It was likely to hurt. He wouldn’t, for the most part, classically call himself a masochist, but after his encounter with Crielle...

_Accidents happen._

Gwyn heard the sound of the case opening. He didn’t know what to expect with Augus anymore. He knew it wasn’t likely to be sounding, but otherwise he had no idea. He doubted it would be sex. Augus, in this mood, was less likely to fuck someone, more likely to ruin with objects, to forego physical intimacy.

He gasped when he felt cold metal upon his lower back. He knew exactly what that was.

‘Aug-’

Gwyn’s uncertain question was cut off. Augus dug his thumb between Gwyn’s vertebrae at his neck, found that pressure point that Gwyn loathed _,_ and pressed so deeply that Gwyn lost track of time for several seconds, vision going black. When Augus let go, Gwyn was aware that he was gasping, was aware of the flat of the knife’s blade resting over the base of his spine.

‘Address me properly,’ Augus said, and it took Gwyn a moment to even remember that he was supposed to be underfae. He’d never been underfae, not even born underfae.

‘King,’ Gwyn gasped, and turned his head sideways, wincing when his neck ached. The nerve endings felt raw. He wasn’t sure Augus had ever been so consistently rough with those particular pressure points before. It was like a bomb had been detonated at the base of his skull.

‘There are, of course, punishments for those who commit crimes against their people. For those who break fae law,’ Augus said, voice devoid of feeling.

Gwyn wondered how much it cost him to say that – if anything – knowing what he had done.

‘And you are only underfae,’ Augus said.

Gwyn pressed his lips together when he felt the knife score into his skin. It was sharp, far sharper than he thought it would be. The pain was more of a sting, and harder to block out because of it. It also meant, however, that the wounds would close only a few minutes after Augus made them.

Gwyn had been bared by the knife before, by Augus. Such a long time ago, that Gwyn had almost forgotten what it was like. That slow, calculated cutting, the knowledge that Augus cared little for the skin barrier that most others held sacred except in battle or when committing violence. Augus followed ridges and lines of muscle with his knife, found meridians of nerve endings, spilled blood.

Once, Gwyn had strained at ropes binding him to get away from the knife, terror streaking through him; he’d been naive, he didn’t know people did it for pleasure. And Augus had showed him that the knife could be a cleansing, could be a way of finding and losing focus again, disappearing into a morass of sensation with a pain that dragged a fluid, unusual pleasure behind it. He had shown Gwyn how to vanish in the red-blackness of it, and Gwyn had gone willingly, wanting respite from his own mind, his own thoughts. Back then, when Augus had realised that Gwyn liked the knife, his eyes had lit up with a wild delight.

He wondered what Augus’ eyes looked like now.

Augus moved from scoring his lower back, to his bound arms, and Gwyn jerked when he cut a shallow line into the sensitive skin in the crook of his arm. But he made no sound.

‘This is entirely disappointing,’ Augus said coolly. ‘Underfae don’t heal this quickly. Shall I cut deeper? Make it more realistic?’

Gwyn’s teeth clenched when Augus went from the shallow, quick-healing lines of red, to cutting deeply into muscle. His throat worked on a stalled exhale. _That_ would take longer to heal. An hour maybe. More.

It was then, when Augus returned to his lower back and cut deeper into his flesh, dangerously close to internal organs, that Gwyn realised this had nothing to do with him. Nothing at all. Augus didn’t care about his pleasure. This was...

Gwyn forced himself to swallow down a cry of pain, feeling shaky. He didn’t know what this was. He hoped it would help.

‘This is still better than being left down in the dark,’ Augus purred, though there was a lifelessness in his tone that sent gooseflesh crawling across Gwyn’s skin. The words, when Gwyn concentrated on them, were disturbing. ‘But then, I don’t imagine the dark would bother _you_ now much, would it?’

Gwyn jerked at his bonds when he realised what Augus was doing, who Augus was pretending Gwyn was; and Augus stroked at his hands with cold fingertips, hushed him with an eerie calm.

‘Prisoner, am I scaring you?’ Augus said, and Gwyn nodded.

‘Yes...King.’

He shouldn’t have said it. He should have called Augus by his name. He should have teleported away and left Augus in the cell to come to his senses, while he – dripping blood – showered himself off and waited for his wounds to heal. He should have done many things. The one thing he probably shouldn’t have done was decide to play along. Decide that he could carry the pretence. He could be the prisoner that Augus needed him to be.

He’d been tortured before, this would be nothing. This was still infinitely preferable to that brief moment with his mother in the chamber earlier in the day. And he...he couldn’t help but feel a kinship in that moment with the Nightmare King he’d helped to defeat. He learned how to create the golden light – that impossible, awful light – in order to defeat a creature that...when he really thought about it...

Augus was shifting behind him, and when he returned, he cut into Gwyn’s skin with a far blunter blade. He had to use pressure just to get the knife through his skin, and it _hurt._ This was nothing like what Augus had done to him all that time ago. He writhed briefly, adjusting, and then his mind began to adapt. This was more Efnisien’s style. It was easy enough then to move into a wary blankness. He was alert to what Augus was doing, but his mind stopped throwing him fully-formed sentences, and offered only words instead. Pain. Danger. Accept. Wait.

He began to lose track of time.

‘It occurs to me, prisoner, that I don’t particularly want to kill you quickly. It makes far more sense to drag this out over time. Perhaps the period of a year? What do you say to that?’

Gwyn’s mind pulled together long enough to remember that the Nightmare King had Augus for about a year. There was no mistaking now who Gwyn was supposed to be. He swallowed down a cry when Augus pressed a blunt wound on his torso, in between his ribs. The skin was sensitive there, and Augus stopped, and then repeated the same wound between the next space between his ribs.

‘Now, now,’ Augus said coldly, ‘It’s impolite not to answer your _King.’_

Augus dug his fingers into one of the wounds and found a pressure point that would have made Gwyn lurch sideways, had Augus’ other hand not come up and held him firm by the wrists. Augus withdrew his fingers from the wound quickly, but kept a punishing grip on the bindings tying Gwyn down.

‘Answer me,’ Augus hissed.

‘A year...yes,’ Gwyn managed, wondering at what point this would all be over. How long since Augus had started cutting him? Half an hour? Longer? Factoring in the spaces where Augus chose the next place to cut, deliberately ratcheting up the tension, it could even be close to an hour. Some of the deeper wounds were already closing or closed, no longer sources of pain.

A slow, thick guilt was rising close to the surface. It was often there, and Gwyn was used to turning away from it, shoving it down, pushing it behind walls. It was an old, ancient guilt. It had crawled over him the first time he’d taken a life, and it had never truly gone away again. It had waited, condemning, when Gwyn had tortured Cyledr. It had suffocated him during the Display of Augus in his Court. It had tripped him up when he had first gone down to the cells and decided to exercise his crueller nature to subjugate someone who had – it turned out – already been subjugated and broken, which was why he’d committed all those crimes in the first place.

It crept higher until it became hard for Gwyn to breathe. Until he was shaking under the weight of it.

When the next cut pressed into his skin, Gwyn’s eyes began to burn. It wasn’t even that it was terribly painful. When Augus dug his fingers into pressure points it hurt more than this. But Gwyn began to feel degraded, began to feel as though Augus could very well leave him in the cell, and Gwyn couldn’t protest on any moral ground. He deserved a cell. He should have been put in one a long time ago.

It was...familiar. It made the guilt inside of him press against the wall of his eyes and look around avidly, only to find the cell itself wanting, only to remind Gwyn that he deserved worse than this.

Gwyn blinked tears out of his eyes.

‘Your responses are very disheartening,’ Augus said, and his voice was a cold politeness which wouldn’t have sounded amiss in his own family. He’d heard Augus speak like this before, in the months before he was defeated and removed from his throne.

Gwyn shouted out in pain when Augus dug the blade underneath his skin, near the top of his hipbone. He lunged forwards and Augus dragged him back again, chuckling to himself. Gwyn’s breath resolved to gasps, and he pressed his forehead down into the ground. He would never, ever, ever grow used to those blasted pressure points. Not when they were dug into like that, underneath his skin. His nerve endings shrieked at him.

‘I hope you realise that we’re only beginning. You had me for a very long time, and I have not even begun to imagine how to best pay you back in kind. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I have imagined it. But to have you here, now, to learn what hurts you...’

The knife dug into his nerves again, and Gwyn couldn’t help it, couldn’t help but try and get away. It was nothing like Augus’ nails. The knife was doing too much damage to muscle and sinew, it was less precise, shredding at him. There was a struggle, as Gwyn pitted his strength against Augus’, and it wasn’t until Augus wrenched his bound arms up until his shoulders threatened to wrench out of their sockets that Gwyn subsided, remembering that he was supposed to allow this, he was supposed to. If it helped...

He would heal.

He could withstand this.

Even though Gwyn had stopped trying to get away, Augus twisted his arms up higher and Gwyn grunted at the pain.

‘You’re not skilled at being underfae, are you, prisoner? You keep forgetting yourself, your new place now. Perhaps I should leave you in the dark, and see if that helps you come to heel.’

Gwyn stilled. Were these words Augus had heard himself? His breath stuttered out of his lungs.

‘You know that I can read your fears very well, don’t you?’

 _By the gods, they are._ Gwyn swallowed down a thick wave of nausea.

‘You, cowering like this, is _delightful._ But I rather suspect that I can draw _far_ more pain from you than this, don’t you?’

Gwyn could feel himself shaking, but felt paralysed. A part of him was locked down in horror. Another part was breaking underneath the weight of those words, knowing that they still applied to him, even in this situation. It was confusing, and Gwyn had stopped thinking properly some time before, when the knife was becoming intimate with his flesh.

But those words...those _inflections,_ they didn’t belong to Augus at all. That was pure Nightmare King. It sounded, for a moment, as though Pitch had wandered into the room.

It drew Gwyn back to a nightmare he’d had at the summit of a mountain, while babysitting a frost spirit. Where a Nightmare King had crept into his mind and brought up some of his darkest memories and laughed at them.

 _Ah, Gwyn,_ the Nightmare King had said, _what a web of criminal activity you are. Have you ever thought of aligning yourself with someone like me? I could make it good for you, my Prince of Light. I know what you need. The only question is, how much could I make you bleed before you still crawled back for more, my coarse, cowardly Prince?_

And here he was, bleeding, and Augus was using the Nightmare King’s words on him, and Augus was pretending _Gwyn_ was the Nightmare King. It had tangled Gwyn’s mind up in knots, and he froze to the floor, trying to ride out full body shudders. The Nightmare King had dragged up memories Gwyn had tried to put behind him, and it was all Gwyn could do not to break out sobbing when he’d woken up, aware that he was King, had a reputation, and the frost spirit needed him to be stronger than whatever he’d wanted to be when he had awoken.

Augus cut him some more, but Gwyn found that he no longer cared about the pain. He couldn’t concentrate. When Augus tutted in disapproval and withdrew and shifted around in his case, all Gwyn knew was the ooze of blood down his back, the smell of it thick in the air.

‘This will hurt,’ Augus said. ‘I’m afraid it will hurt rather a lot.’

Gwyn tensed at the words, and then felt a knife slide in between his ribs, angling up towards his heart. He flinched, cried out, his mind a mess, and then choked when the blade slid deeper. Augus angled the blade down, as though he meant to cut into Gwyn’s ribs, and he _could_ now, he was Capital fae, he was-

There was a sudden, terrible gasp above him, and the knife slid out of him, a rough, quick movement. Gwyn’s stab wound started pouring blood. The gasps didn’t stop, and Augus shouted in a high, fractious pain.

Augus dropped down alongside him, and Gwyn turned to him, confused, worried, groggy. Augus’ head bowed towards the ground, a bloodied, serrated knife dropped out of his hand and rolled away.

Gwyn swallowed several times, before he thought he was able to speak. In that time, Augus breathed heavily, his hand came down to clutch his chest. Gwyn thought, possibly, that Augus might be remembering something terrible from the past. He wasn’t sure. Through the haze of pain, he became aware that he wasn’t thinking very well. That last wound had been far, far deeper than the rest.

‘King?’ Gwyn said, and then tried to tilt his head to look at Augus properly. Instead, he ended up looking at the knife itself, at the blood on it.

Augus made a sound of pain and forced himself upright onto his knees. Both of his hands were clutched to his heart, and he bowed his shoulders once more, a long, syllable of pain forcing its way out of his throat.

‘My name is _Augus,’_ he rasped, and then bent back down to the ground again, his forearms bracing his entire weight as he rocked forwards. Gwyn wanted to get up, to check he was okay, but he couldn’t think. As he looked towards the packed earth of the ground, rested his forehead against it, he felt Augus’ clumsy arm come up and work on the knots at the rope around his wrists.

He pulled his arms forward when they came free and braced himself. His shoulders ached. His wrists were lacerated. He felt sticky, wet with blood.

‘Augus, are you...what is wrong?’

 _‘Why?’_ Augus said, disbelieving. He sounded far more like himself than he had since Gwyn had seen him in his room. ‘Why didn’t you stop me?’

Gwyn didn’t know what to say. He felt blood trickling down his skin from between his ribs. He was lucky a lung hadn’t been punctured. Augus was Capital fae now, he could have done real damage. He-

Gwyn’s eyes widened.

‘I almost broke the blood-oath,’ Augus said, voice rough with pain. Augus forced himself upright and then placed careful fingers on one of the spaces on Gwyn’s back that hadn’t been wounded. Gwyn kept his head down to the ground. There was a tenderness in that touch that he didn’t know how to respond to.

Augus had almost broken the blood-oath, the one to not cause Gwyn permanent injury or death. Which meant that...

Gwyn squinted at the knife and then reached out to grasp it when he realised what metal it was made of. _Ingrit._ He would have healed, but it would have damaged the integrity of his bone had Augus cut into it. His ribs would have been weakened forever. And if Augus activated his blood-oath, that meant that he intended to cut into bone. Gwyn stared at the knife, and then dropped it when a particularly strong bout of shaking made its way through him.

The fingers on his back disappeared, and then Augus was suddenly crouching alongside him, looking at him intently. His eyes were wide, concerned.

‘Gwyn?’

Gwyn nodded a response. He knew he had to respond. He was trying to help. He closed his eyes and blocked out Augus’ face and waited for whatever would come next. It wasn’t like him, to be so groggy after something like this. He’d withstood far worse. He didn’t understand what was wrong.

He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, when he felt fingers sticky with blood touch him on the cheek.

 _‘Fuck,’_ Augus said, and then got up again. He didn’t do anything to Gwyn, which surprised him. Gwyn stayed still on the floor, waited. Augus picked up the knife, the rope, packed up his things. He took his time about it, and Gwyn was reminded of the time that Augus had packed away the sounds methodically and with precision, when he’d realised that something had gone wrong.

Augus came back and was wiping blood off his fingers with Gwyn’s shirt. When he was done, he took the hem of the shirt and brought it up to Gwyn’s cheek, carefully wiping off the smears of blood he’d left there.

'Take us to my room,’ Augus said quietly, and Gwyn nodded, intended to move, but his thoughts were sluggish. A minute passed, another, and then Augus swore again.

‘Gwyn? Concentrate for me. Can you take us to my room?’

Gwyn nodded and reached out with his hand, surprised when Augus slipped his own hand into his. He’d thought he’d have to grasp his wrist, or his forearm. Instead, Augus squeezed his hand against Gwyn’s, and Gwyn dragged his thoughts together, found the light that would trip them both into a different space.

He landed on the floorboards of Augus’ room in his palace, stayed still. It wasn’t so much the pain that was forcing him to stay still, he’d experienced worse in battle, he’d experienced worse at Efnisien’s hands, and the pain itself was constant but not crippling. But he couldn’t seem to remember what he was supposed to do next. He stayed down. He waited.

Augus got up and walked out of the room, and Gwyn’s eyes widened when he realised he’d been left alone.

He felt bereft. Perhaps Augus had gotten it out of his system, whatever it was. Gwyn’s heart was still racing. He drew his arms backwards himself and cupped his palms protectively over his chest, lying upon them and pressing his cheek to the floor. He would just stay like this a little bit longer, and then his fae healing would have well and truly kicked in and erased the worst of the damage. He would leave. He would check in on Augus later.

His mind drifted, and he jolted in shock when the door clicked open. He opened his eyes and saw Augus’ boots, and then looked up to see Augus looking down at him, eyebrows pulled together, lips pursed.

‘Alright,’ Augus said, almost to himself. He cleared his throat. Command swam into his voice. ‘Gwyn, get on the bed. Lie on it, facedown.’

Gwyn pushed himself upright mechanically, automatically, and Augus watched him with a sober, still wariness. Gwyn wanted to apologise for the blood as he lay down on the bed, but he knew that Augus could see it was there, and so he lay down without saying anything, resting his head on his forearm. Augus got on the bed with him, and placed a warm, damp towel over his back. Gwyn hissed at that, and Augus palmed the back of his head. It was familiar, soothing, and Gwyn’s breathing started to even out. He hadn’t expected Augus to come back.

‘You should have stopped me,’ Augus said, and then sighed. ‘You didn’t think to, did you?’

Gwyn shook his head.

‘You would have let me cause you permanent injury,’ Augus said.

‘I didn’t realise,’ Gwyn said thickly. ‘I didn’t know the blade was made out of _Ingrit.’_

‘I doubt you would have stopped me, even if you had known,’ Augus said, pressing his hands down into the towel and helping it to absorb the blood. He took another damp cloth – Gwyn realised belatedly that must have been what Augus was doing when he’d left – and rubbed it across the back of Gwyn’s neck. Gwyn groaned softly. It soothed at the bruises left behind when Augus had dug into his pressure points. Augus paused, and then repeated the gesture, and Gwyn’s body relaxed further against the bed.

‘There,’ Augus whispered. ‘Good.’

 _Good,_ Gwyn thought, hazily.

‘You can’t leave. You have to stay here for a little while, I need to take care of you. Do you understand? Can’t have both of us almost breaking a blood-oath in a single night.’

‘But...this isn’t about me,’ Gwyn said.

Augus lay down on his stomach beside Gwyn, and then looked at him, sought his eyes. Gwyn gave the eye contact uneasily, and Augus removed the damp towel from the back of Gwyn’s neck and rubbed his fingertips across it instead. Gwyn shivered at the gentleness of it.

‘Who is it about?’ Augus said. ‘Me? The Nightmare King?’

Gwyn tensed.

‘Gwyn, why did you let me treat you like you were him?’

There was a knowingness in Augus’ eyes, and Gwyn turned his head the other way, cutting off the eye contact. He didn’t want to see that. Not with Augus’ fingers stroking the back of his neck in that gentle way, not with his back still bleeding and wounded and breathing through pain.

‘I thought it would help,’ Gwyn said, and Augus reached up and dragged fingertips through Gwyn’s hair, sighing.

‘It did help,’ Augus said. ‘It helped me get closer to the madness I thought I’d shed, and I shan’t be doing it again.’

Gwyn grimaced; that didn’t sound like it had helped at all. He pushed his face into the bed. Once, he’d been sure that Augus was beyond recovery, but six months in a cell on his own, and he’d somehow recovered himself without anyone else’s help. He wondered what people would say if they knew, if they would ever believe in him again. And he wondered how Augus would keep himself back from the abyss, but then...Augus seemed far more efficient at that than Gwyn had ever been. After all, Augus seemed able to master himself. But for Gwyn, his self-mastery was clumsy in the arena of madness.

‘Do you think you’re like the Nightmare King?’ Augus whispered, and Gwyn pulled away from that touch against his neck, from Augus’ warmth against his side. He inched sideways until he’d put space between them.

Augus simply followed and lay alongside him once more, trailing fingers through his hair again. Gwyn made a face against the blankets.

‘Do you?’ Augus said, and touched what part of Gwyn’s cheek he could reach. ‘Do you look at all the evil you’ve done, the lives you’ve ruined, the people you’ve destroyed... Do you look at the fact that he held me captive and now _you_ hold me captive and wonder? You’ve both fucked me. Both led me down into the dark. Both kept me in isolation. You mustn’t be blind to the parallels.’

Gwyn’s hands were still cupped over his heart, and he slid them out and wrapped them around his head instead. He had no answer. He was still shaking. He didn’t want to talk about this.

‘You’ve even both used my brother against me,’ Augus said, a light jab that contrasted with the way he was now smoothing his hand over the towel itself, carefully avoiding the worst of the wounds as they healed.

Gwyn turned his head to the side, faced away from Augus.

‘I thought it would help, just to let you,’ he said again. It was all he knew to say. He didn’t want to admit anything.

‘How altruistic of you,’ Augus said drily. ‘Gwyn...’

Augus sighed. There was a heaviness in the sound itself. For one strange, bizarre moment, Gwyn thought that Augus was going to say that he wasn’t like the Nightmare King at all, but the moment passed and Augus simply trailed his hand back up to Gwyn’s neck and curved over it, like his hand belonged there.

_He is just using you as a way of passing the time._

Gwyn squeezed his eyes shut, his hands clenched over his head.

‘When I saw you earlier,’ Augus said, ‘you were so ready to drop, to submit...quick even for you, and you can be _quick._ What happened today?’

Gwyn shuddered violently before he could stop himself. He hadn’t expected a question like that, and he hadn’t been prepared for Augus to ask it while he was healing and bloody, while he wasn’t entirely back in his mind yet. He shook his head, and Augus tensed like a predator seeing its prey for the first time.

Suddenly Augus sat up and moved so that he was facing Gwyn, cross-legged. He pulled gently on Gwyn’s tensed hands, pulled and tugged until Gwyn unclenched his fingers and moved them away from his head. Augus’ fingers curled in his.

‘What happened today?’ Augus said again, persistent.

 _Accidents happen,_ his mother had said. When he was not King, the game would begin again, and they would see which one of them triumphed. It would be his mother. He knew that. It was only a matter of time. He could be strong, even versed in minor magic, he could be adept at winning on a battlefield, but his mother would...find a way. She was more determined to see Gwyn die, than he was to live. And if she caught him in one of his bleaker moments, that would be it.

It shouldn’t still bother him, after all this time. It wasn’t like she’d ever made a secret of how she felt about him. At least, not to him.

Augus moved forwards, leaned over him, crowded him.

‘What happened?’ Augus said again, and Gwyn shook his head in response.

He didn’t want to talk about it. Next week he’d simply tell Augus that the Wild Hunt plan could no longer be executed, and that Augus was safe from such an event, and he’d leave it as a casual statement, and then end the conversation.

‘What happens in your Court that makes you like this? In that dense head of yours? Turn, turn your head to the side. Say something.’

Gwyn turned his head enough that he could get a clear breath after having his face pushed into the blankets. Augus was encouraging him to tilt his head up with fingers under his chin, but Gwyn refused to look at him. When Augus kept persisting, Gwyn tilted his head away, towards his own shoulder. Augus huffed a breath of frustration.

‘Say something,’ Augus said, a thread of command finding its way into his voice.

‘I just wanted to help,’ Gwyn said, and winced at himself.

‘How about something _else?’_ Augus said, sounding irritated.

Gwyn was silent for a long time, thinking. And then his fingers twitched against Augus’.

‘Are you okay?’

Augus made an actual sound of frustration, and withdrew his fingers from Gwyn’s hand entirely. Gwyn thought – suddenly frightened – that Augus might leave, but after a couple of minutes, he pushed both of his hands into Gwyn’s hair and massaged at his scalp, sending bursts of warmth all the way down his spine. Gwyn’s breath hitched on a moan he didn’t voice.

‘All these secrets that you keep,’ Augus said softly. ‘You hide your light, I’ve noticed. You’ve given me permission to dig into you, but it’s harder than it looks. You make me work for your secrets, Gwyn. You won’t even tell me what happened today. You hide your innate power. And who knows what I don’t know about your family, given that you think Efnisien’s abuse of you is...what, nothing? If you make me work for them, Gwyn, _you_ will get hurt. I _will_ find my way to what’s inside of you.’

It sounded like an ominous promise, but it was hard to mind so much, with Augus’ hands moving on his head like that. It was soothing. Augus lifted his hands away slightly and Gwyn froze, refusing to move up into the touch. He’d surely be showing too much of himself, if he did that. Augus sighed once more, and lowered his hands again. Gwyn had the strangest feeling that Augus was testing to see how Gwyn would respond, if Gwyn would arch up into his hands. He had an even stranger feeling that he should have moved up into the touch.

‘You let me dig all that time ago, and the most I got out of you is that you didn’t want to be like your father, and that you regretted what you’d done to Cyledr and Nwython. Which, when I think about it now, you told me hardly anything at all.’

Gwyn didn’t say anything. Honestly, it had felt like he’d revealed a _great_ deal to Augus at the time, but when he really thought about it, Augus was right. He’d revealed a great deal by his own standards but in the long list of secrets that he kept and was expected to keep...

‘What happened today?’ Augus persisted. ‘Just this one thing. Tell me. Are you worried I’ll use it against you? I might. But why worry about something so paltry when I’ve just treated you like the world’s greatest evil anyway? I hardly think your secret is going to matter.’

Augus laughed at himself, and Gwyn blinked to hear the levity. At least Augus sounded more like himself than he had in a little while. He realised that whatever Augus had done, whether it was hurting Gwyn, or nearly breaking the blood-oath and shocking himself, or something else...it _had_ helped. Augus might not have realised it yet, but it had.

When Augus moved both of his hands away again, Gwyn absently listed into them, and Augus hummed a rich approval at him. Gwyn’s whole body warmed in response.

‘Talk to me. With words. That don’t have ‘help’ in them,’ Augus said, and Gwyn realised that Augus wasn’t going to let this go.

Gwyn decided to stick with the barest of facts, finding a sentence he found passable. He only wanted to close his eyes and let himself drift under the sensuous touch that Augus was offering.

‘Today the plot to have you attend the Wild Hunt came to a head,’ the hands in his hair tensed. ‘Which gave me the opportunity to shut it down completely. It will _never_ happen now. You and Ash, at least in this, are safe.’

A long moment passed, and then Augus leaned down until his head was alongside Gwyn’s.

‘Ash and I are safe,’ Augus said slowly. Gwyn nodded. ‘That means _you_ are not.’

Gwyn ground his teeth together. He said nothing at all. He expected Augus to push more, to dig at him, but instead Augus leaned up and slid off the bed. He removed the towel. Gwyn shifted, uncomfortable, as cold air hit the damp on his back. And then he blinked in surprise when Augus covered him with a blanket, and tucked it up over his shoulders.

‘The bleeding has mostly stopped. One or two lacerations might bleed a little longer,’ Augus said, with a calm efficiency.

‘They’ll be closed by tomorrow,’ Gwyn said, and Augus sat cross-legged in front of him once more.

‘I know,’ Augus said. He stroked his fingers over the parts of Gwyn’s face that he could reach, and Gwyn tilted his head up, and then remembered that he wasn’t supposed to do that. He went to hide his face again, and Augus quickly reached out and stopped him, sliding one hand between Gwyn’s other cheek and the blankets, while caressing his forehead with the backs of his fingers.

‘Your life is in danger,’ Augus said.

‘This is nothing new,’ Gwyn said, and Augus took a slow breath.

‘Today was different,’ Augus said.

‘Yes, well, today I was tortured, wasn’t I?’ Gwyn snapped, and then his eyes widened. He was surprised at himself. The rush of indignation and annoyance left him as quickly as it had come, and he felt scoured out, like an empty shore in front of the receding tide.

Augus laughed softly.

‘Now, now, don’t get _defensive._ Sensitive subject, is it? Don’t pretend that the torture _truly_ bothered you. I can guess what Efnisien did to you, at least some of it, and you care not a whit for the fact that he likely stabbed things into you and tormented you every one of those times he got you alone when your family insisted you should play together. Everyone knows your ability to withstand torture. This isn’t about the fact that I _cut_ you, and let’s not look at the fact that you actually like a little knifeplay, from time to time. Or shall we look at that too? Where did _that_ come from, I wonder?’

Gwyn pushed himself upright to leave, and Augus placed his fingers over the blanket, over Gwyn’s ribs, and pushed deliberately down upon wounds that hadn’t closed yet. Gwyn made a short, frustrated sound and sank down again.

‘You can’t leave, Gwyn. You’ll activate the blood-oath.’

‘This is _not_ aftercare,’ Gwyn said, annoyed.

‘Your blood-oath was so woefully thin that it hardly matters _what_ this is. Now, where was I? Oh...I remember. Your life is in danger. And it’s nothing new. And then your captive dragged you down into a cell and cut you, while you told yourself you deserved it, because you were just like _him._ I’ve got the gist of it now, don’t I? Look, I can feel you shaking. You don’t like it when I get close to the truth, do you? This is bothering you far more than me almost permanently injuring your ribs ever did.’

Augus leaned forwards and chuckled.

‘Imagine how much fun it’s going to be, when I make you show me your light?’

‘Fuck off, Augus,’ Gwyn snarled, a flash of anger moving through him. Augus had _no idea_ what he was talking about. No idea what he was messing with. And to hear him be so jovial about it made Gwyn want to smash his fist through something. Preferably Augus’ face.

Augus’ laughter abruptly stopped.

He paused, then shifted on the bed again. Gwyn’s eyes flew open when Augus simply lay down on top of him, his chest to Gwyn’s back over the blanket. He rested his head alongside Gwyn’s head, and his arms folded alongside Gwyn’s arms. He pushed his hands back into Gwyn’s hair, and then his mouth found the side of Gwyn’s ear.

‘Shh,’ he whispered. ‘You’re _still_ shaking, did you know?’

Gwyn’s forehead creased, his mouth thinned. He felt scattered, unsettled. Augus’ weight was surprisingly grounding, but he didn’t want to listen to anything else he had to say. He shook his head and didn’t know why he was shaking it.

Augus forced his legs between Gwyn’s, even with the blanket separating them. It made Gwyn feel oddly exposed, more vulnerable than when he was bleeding and bound in the cell.

Two fingers came and found the pulse at his neck, which Gwyn knew was racing. Augus held his fingers there, and then took a long, deep breath that pushed his sternum and ribs down into Gwyn’s back. When he exhaled, he actually pushed his face against Gwyn’s. He kept his fingers on his pulse, reaching up with his thumb to stroke his neck lightly.

‘It’s dangerous,’ Augus said, voice even and...concerned, perhaps, Gwyn couldn’t tell. ‘You wouldn’t have stopped me. If there was no blood-oath in place, I would have seriously, _permanently_ harmed you.’

‘You ordered the weapon,’ Gwyn said, accusing, and Augus nodded.

‘Yes, I did. I ordered it back when you first told me I could ask for just about anything from the trows, and I wanted to be prepared in case you stumbled across the family curse again and decided you wanted to hunt me and then _stab me in the shoulder with an arrow._ ’

Gwyn realised that was fair. Besides, he didn’t have to like it, but he was becoming increasingly certain that Augus wasn’t going to destroy him. Not yet, anyway. Not while Gwyn was the key to Augus’ comfort levels in the palace, and his possible, eventual freedom.

It was hard to keep track of any of that, with Augus’ weight on his back, his legs between Gwyn’s legs, his arms around his, squeezing a reassuring, firm pressure into him. Augus was everywhere, and Gwyn could smell the freshness of him, the cleanness.

‘I don’t understand how no one else has realised that you’re like this,’ Augus said to himself. ‘Or perhaps some have and never took advantage because of your reputation. You’re don’t just have tendencies towards submission, Gwyn, you’re...look at you. You _need_ this. Another secret then? One you’ve kept tucked away all the time? And of course, I never betrayed it, for I was always discreet.’

‘Yes,’ Gwyn said, ‘yes, you were.’

If anyone had realised, they’d never raised it with him. Mafydd didn’t count, anyway. And after that, certainly, he’d encountered opposition who had postured at him, who had threatened things, but no one had seriously tried to dominate him. No one except Augus, and Augus would never have tried if Gwyn hadn’t asked for it in the first place, afraid for his own life and mind. It was...Augus was right, it was another secret that he kept tucked away.

And Gwyn had established his own reputation. He fucked just off the battlefield, ruined with bloodlust, rough to boot. Soldiers and lovers knew in advance that being fucked by Gwyn was, in no uncertain terms, difficult, intense, over quickly. There were those who flirted with him because they liked the idea of danger, of being dominated. There were even those who flirted with the idea of winning the King to their beds so they could say they were with him, his consort. But Gwyn was never interested in taking on a long-term lover. He was known instead as the beast who fucked like he killed – he got the job done.

Augus tightened his body around Gwyn’s, and Gwyn relaxed into the mattress without thinking about it.

‘You’re not like him,’ Augus said, his voice cautious. ‘The parallels are there, and obvious, but you’re not. Take it from someone who knows you both quite well, and can tell the difference. No, no, don’t move...relax, Gwyn. Just...’

Gwyn had tensed at Augus’ words.

‘You’re still a monster,’ Augus said, a smile entering his voice. ‘But there are different calibres of monster.’

Gwyn thought back to his mother calling him ‘creature.’ It had been a common name, growing up.  

‘I’m a monster, too,’ Augus said, and he sounded proud of himself as he said it. It was – obviously – not a source of shame for him. Gwyn wondered if that was because he had spent so much time in the Unseelie world, amongst the fae and the Court itself.

‘You’re still shaking,’ Augus said, and Gwyn shook his head because he didn’t know what to say. The events of the day had caught up with him. He was glad for Augus’ weight on his back, the arms around his arms. He was even grateful for the tangle of damp hair that had fallen alongside his own.

Time drifted, and then Augus shifted, lifted his head, smoothed back the curls at the base of Gwyn’s neck. Gwyn expected fingertips trailing perhaps, and gasped when Augus pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the warm skin there.

‘Oh,’ Gwyn said, soft.

The kisses continued, one after another, tracing a chain down until they reached the back of his jawbone, and there Augus traced the line of it with his tongue. It was startlingly intimate.

‘Augus,’ Gwyn whispered, and Augus said nothing, only kissed his way back to Gwyn’s spine again, licking over the back of his neck. The hand that was holding his hair away smoothed it, tangled in his curls, and Augus’ other hand tightened around his arm, his legs encouraged Gwyn’s further apart. Gwyn felt as though he were on some unnameable precipice. He didn’t know how to tell Augus that no one had treated him like this before, didn’t have words for it.

After several minutes of those long, intimate kisses, Augus suddenly sank his teeth deep into the back of Gwyn’s neck, over his spine. Teeth cut through skin, and blood spilled. And Gwyn, after crying out in pain, felt his entire body shudder to a complete halt. His mind went blank, and a lassitude crept over him. He sank down into the blankets, his breathing became deep.

Augus withdrew his teeth slowly and then licked at the blood that flowed from the wounds with relish.

‘Would you look at that?’ Augus breathed with a dark sort of satisfaction.

‘What?’ Gwyn said, voice sluggish once more, lazy with warmth.

‘You’ve stopped shaking.’

Augus kept licking at him, waiting for the wounds to start healing before pressing kisses to his neck once more. And Gwyn didn’t move, only sighed into the bed itself and moaned softly when Augus scraped his teeth over his earlobe.

‘Let’s not do that again,’ Augus said against his skin, breath cool against the saliva clinging to him. ‘You’re a little too good at pretending to be a prisoner. I wonder why?’

Gwyn suppressed the urge to laugh. Augus could keep wondering. He wasn’t going to find out why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, 'Stymied:'
> 
> ‘It would make you stronger on a battlefield,’ Augus said against his skin. ‘Given how much you care about strength on a battlefield, I don’t understand why you won’t use it when it’s such an _asset._ Do you remember, when I told you it wasn’t a sin to be yourself? Do you? Is this some form of demented hatred directed at yourself? Because let me assure you Gwyn, amongst raping prisoners and forced cannibalism and all the other things you’ve done, hating yourself for your _power_ is honestly one of the stupidest things I’ve ever heard of.’


	22. Stymied

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New tags: Sex Toys.
> 
> This chapter features a pretty prolonged BDSM scene, with some of the kinks from the listed tags. Remember to always step away (or do whatever you need to, to look after yourself) if something overwhelms you! 
> 
> *
> 
> Thank you guys so so much for your comments and feedback and interacting with the fic you guys are the BEST. :D THE BEST.

Gwyn had left Augus a few hours later in a sour mood. Augus wasn’t entirely surprised, given that he hadn’t been able to resist baiting him, and that perhaps not everyone would be well disposed to being stabbed with a knife several times. And Augus would have been willing to leave it at that, except that he _knew_ Gwyn liked knifeplay, and he knew that Gwyn – while not generally responding well to being baited – at least expected a degree of it.

Gwyn had seemed lost inside some other space in his mind. Whatever space that was, he’d likely stumbled into it during the scene, and it had tumbled him further into a reckless submission than Augus would have ever thought possible.

_And that’s saying something, really._

Augus ached from activating his blood-oath. His cells scraped and jarred. That was the closest he’d ever come to breaking one, and he didn’t want to ever repeat the experience. He had experienced a fairly diverse palette of pain; but he’d never experienced anything like that. He’d always been averse to making blood-oaths, the consequences were usually fatal if they were broken. But with the captivity and wanting to take Gwyn, to consume him, he’d decided there wasn’t much point in being precious about them now.

He’d decided he was far more likely to be killed by any number of other things first – primarily Gwyn – than by breaking a single blood-oath.

_Oops._

At least he didn’t construct blood-oaths as clumsily as Gwyn did. Augus chuckled, remembering how Gwyn had oathed to accept aftercare. Gwyn hadn’t even stipulated what it _was,_ and because he himself didn’t know, the blood-oath was delightfully broad. Aftercare was whatever Augus wanted it to be. Perhaps he should poke Gwyn into making oaths more often.

Augus’ lips tilted into a half-smile as he polished his boots.

There were times when he amused himself by replaying the truth of his current situation. He was out of his cell. He lived in a palace. The fact was that he had so far choked, knifed, bled and restrained the King of the Seelie fae. Most surprising about all of it, was not the basic satisfaction he got from knowing the balance of power had shifted, but the fact that he was enjoying himself. He would have been enjoying this even if he weren’t captive. Circumstances would never have placed him in this situation if he were free, and yet Gwyn was curious, far more than the stupid, damaged soldier Augus had assumed he was in the beginning.

Gwyn was attracted to him, admired him. There were times when Gwyn looked at him and there was an expression so painfully _earnest_ , that Augus was torn between scratching it off his face, and keeping it close. There were so many ways to destroy him now, to tear him apart, that there was almost no sport left in it.

Augus smirked. _Almost._

And it was obvious that Gwyn was broken already. Gwyn had taken to being a prisoner so well, that Augus had allowed himself to follow the fantasy down as far as he’d apparently needed it to go. His own lack of control, in retrospect, astounded him.

_Look at that, you’re surprised you haven’t resolved those issues that derived from the Nightmare King?_

Augus sighed, briefly closed his eyes. He placed his boots down onto the floor and the brush and polish on his desk.

Augus would have killed him.

He suspected, from the fact that Gwyn hadn’t reacted more aggressively to Augus nearly breaking the blood-oath, that Gwyn was either in too deep to realise what had happened, or that Gwyn thought Augus had been about to permanently injure him, and that Gwyn found this relatively easy to accept. Which, given that Gwyn had no _signs_ of permanent injury on his person aside from a single, tiny scar over the back curve of his ribs on the right-hand side, was intriguing.

Aside from a single moment where Gwyn had bitched about the torment itself _afterwards_ – which was, Augus knew, lashing out and not a serious complaint – he’d not seemed remotely angry at the time when Augus had nearly broken the oath.

Augus _knew_ he would have killed him. He was heading straight to Gwyn’s heart, he wasn’t even _subtle_ about it. He’d only twisted the knife back when the blood-oath had flashed a warning inside of him, and then coasted too close to his ribsand knocked the blood-oath into a full flare. He’d forgotten where he was. He’d forgotten who he was with. His bloodlust – present and suppressed, waiting for meat – had awakened.

It turned out that Kings weren’t quite as invulnerable as he’d thought. All he needed was the right knife, the right status, and an idiot who would simply lie there and take it.

It was one thing to suspect that Gwyn had a death wish. It was quite another to be made complicit in its near execution.

Augus had searched him out the next morning. Gwyn had been returning from training new recruits for his army, to replace the murdered Uther and the other one.

When Augus had stopped him and demanded that he check the wound at his ribs, Gwyn had stared, eyes narrowed. He’d stood silently, lips thinned, while Augus lifted the chainmail himself. Gwyn had even made a sound of irritation when Augus prodded at the wound to see how it was knitting together. It was a serious wound. It was _still_ healing. Augus knew from his own time as King that it shouldn’t have taken that long.  

Gwyn had eyed him with so much impatience that Augus began to wonder if Gwyn was annoyed after all at what had transpired. And Augus had walked away wondering why he’d even bothered to check the wound.

_Healers on a battlefield must love him when he gets injured. All stoic and moronic about it._

But then Gwyn had always been Court fae or higher, healing was something he could take for granted. Augus knew that wounds could be fatal, that infection could be a mortal illness, that injuries had to be tended. And he knew that even if Gwyn was King, Augus had an obligation to make sure he was healing. And that obligation was not something he took lightly.

But how far did it extend? This wasn’t a single scene, it wasn’t even two or three scenes. They were – for all that Gwyn pretended otherwise – living together. They were in each other’s space. They saw each other. And though they rarely talked, Augus knew they had an awareness of each other that went far beyond civility. How far did the obligation to make sure Gwyn was healing extend?

If there was one thing Augus could do, it was roll with what life gave him. He wanted a quiet, straightforward life, but when things went wildly awry, he knew how to adapt to that too. After several thousand years of not being interested in commitment, he now found himself doing it anyway. He was getting something out of it. Gwyn was comely, strange, intriguing. It was also in his best interests to make sure he could both control or have influence over his captor.

That was what he’d known at first, but as time passed, it became less about control, about influence. Augus didn’t lie to himself about that. He didn’t see the point.

He simply found Gwyn _interesting_ , and he was invested in him now. Sometimes that was an immensely aggravating fact of life. Because it turned out that Gwyn wasn’t remotely invested in himself. Gwyn who didn’t know how to embrace someone properly. Who thought that being taken against his will – as long as it was slow – counted as ‘gently.’ Who had let Augus slide a knife between his ribs, and...

Augus made a sound of disgust and pushed himself up from the bed, slipping his feet into the boots and buckling them, admiring the shine.

Gwyn who was also brittle like glass, an unselfconscious beast, a vulnerable creature the next. And he kissed with that hesitant, sweet innocence that made Augus want to dig his claws into his ribcage and pull his sternum apart, look at what lay beneath in the core of him. He wanted mess and blood and viscera, he wanted to place his tongue against the rift in Gwyn’s soul and _lick_.

There were times when Gwyn was surprised by touch, particularly when it was tender. It was so unlike what Augus was used to. Ash by contrast was greedy for affection. He was never surprised by it, always open to it, as though it was his birthright. Which, in a way, it was. It wasn’t as though Augus hadn’t been liberal with it while they’d been growing up. Gwyn was a soldier who had grown up with a soldier’s education about sex. It made him crass and rough and familiar with crude language. But outside of that liberal education, he knew almost nothing about affection. Gwyn was sexual, not sensual.  

He liked Gwyn’s submission. He had to fight for it, and it was dangerous; Gwyn could be impulsive, and it was only a handful of words that would have Augus demoted again. He didn’t expect he’d stay demoted for _long,_ but he knew Gwyn was more than capable, if pushed.

There was an abundance of the submission itself. It was almost as though Gwyn offered something tangible and complete, a trust that Augus could actually hold, feel, manipulate.

But that was an illusion.

How could it be complete, when there was still so much that Augus didn’t understand? Augus was beginning to suspect that alongside hiding things from himself, Gwyn was still hiding things from Augus. But he couldn’t be sure _what._

The most obvious, especially now, was how Gwyn held onto his light and repressed it. He disdained it, feared it. What was the point in fearing one’s innate power? It was there to be understood, _used._ There was no point in sitting on it, and yet Gwyn curled around it like it was a sin inside of himself.

Augus had no patience with that.

He wanted that light.

It was a diverse, strange light. In teleporting, it was warm and soft. Yet it had destroyed Augus’ underwater dome when he was at the height of his power. It had reached through over one hundred metres of deep water, voracious and strong. Augus had never seen anything like it. Rumours at the school he’d attacked said that Gwyn created a light barrier that had stopped the Nain Rouge’s bullets. He didn’t even know how that was possible. It was _light._ More, he didn’t know why Gwyn elected not to use any of that on the battlefield. Instead he used his sword, his body, his armour. He used other people’s magic and _their_ powers.

Why wouldn’t he use his own?

Then there was the light that Gwyn had accidentally released when he’d broken apart in the lake, after nearly murdering him – unfairly – with liver. That had been closer to his teleportation light, and for a moment, Augus had been certain that Gwyn was teleporting away. But he hadn’t left. His whole body had been limned with a sudden, gentle white-gold light that flashed into appearance for several seconds and then disappeared again. Ever since then, it was pushed into some box where Augus couldn’t get to it.

_Perhaps I could get him to light up again, it was very pretty. It’s not every day one gets landed with a King who lights up like an ornament plugged into a power socket._

Augus had an idea. A dangerous one. Shove Gwyn too far into submission, and he gave aspects of himself that no one should give; his life being the prime example. So Augus would have to tread carefully. He didn’t want – and now there was a surprise – his _life,_ he wanted the light of him.

There was a faint thread of worry that trickled through his mind, a wayward stream of water. Gwyn didn’t always respond predictably. Augus would push, expecting one thing, and he’d get the opposite. He was willing to attribute at least some of that to being off his game, to being hungry, to his centre changing, to being captive and out of his natural environment.

But now that he was Capital fae, stronger, in an environment that was quite comfortable given his circumstances, he knew that a great deal of it was simply not _knowing_ Gwyn.

Gwyn who in turn had pulled truths from him about the Nightmare King that no one else knew. Who on the surface was clumsily social and possessed that rough grace of any brute who knew more about killing than about any other fact of life; but beneath that could wield his body with a mastery that left Augus breathless and wanting, a dam full of sensation. That intrigued him too.

It was a challenge then, breaking someone already so broken, to follow the badly repaired scars in his psyche and see what lay beneath them.

But Augus appreciated a challenge, it gave him something to do with his time.

*

The trows were helpful. They would not be his first choice of helper fae – they didn’t speak, some weren’t literate, they were fragile even if they did possess a surprising amount of strength. But they were faithful and diligent, they had a way of accessing materials and objects that most fae couldn’t. He wondered if it was their tricksy ways and that long ingrained habit of stealing silver rubbing off.

He’d befriended two of them. He wasn’t sure how that had happened. He hadn’t gone out of his way to treat them with kindness. It was likely that one time he’d asked their input on some fabrics he wasn’t used to seeing. And then, upon looking at what they’d selected, he’d agreed with two of their choices, because Gwyn was paying for it and it didn’t _matter_ what he chose, although the cloth did look like it had its merits.

After that, they were the two trows that showed up most often when he had a request for something.

So they were the trows that helped to outfit one of his rooms for more specific aspects of Augus’ trade. They hadn’t questioned any of his orders. Not for the wooden cross, not for the cushioned benches he’d asked for, not for a bed at least as sturdy as Gwyn’s, not for the knives, not for anything. He suspected he wasn’t supposed to have the full kit of knives though, because the trows delivered that in secret, they’d stayed away for a few days after that.

If Augus thought he stood a better chance of surviving outside the Seelie Court away from Gwyn’s active protection, he would have used that to his advantage. But he’d experienced the humiliation of a public display now, the viciousness of Gwyn’s soldiers, the knowledge that the Seelie fae didn’t loathe him as much as many of the Unseelie did. So, he had to make do with the situation he’d created for himself. That was something he knew how to do as well. He had the knives, he could defend himself, Gwyn showed no real signs of descending back into madness.

_No, that was you most recently, remember? Perhaps you should keep a tally between you both._

Augus laughed under his breath as he walked through the room, checking the sturdiness of the cross, a Gwyn-sized saltire cross that was bolted into the ground. He made sure that he had supplies, first aid, herbs that he might need, water, even food.

More than a week and a half after Augus had activated that blood-oath and been startled into scrutinising Gwyn more closely, he was ready to see if he could break that light out of Gwyn’s body.

As always, the warm, prickly awareness that came with setting up a scene moved through him. It started in the palms of his hands, the soles of his feet, the back of his neck, and became a tension in his spine, an anticipation. He breathed it out. His own reactions could wait.

*

There was no ambush this time; there was no need.

Augus ducked his head into Gwyn’s map room, knowing that Gwyn – if not training – was likely to be there or away from the Seelie Court. Gwyn turned, holding a calligraphy brush in one hand, and another balanced delicately in his teeth. When he saw Augus he quickly reached up and removed it from his mouth, frowning.

‘Did you need something?’

Augus smirked. And Gwyn swallowed, his hand tightened on his brushes.

‘Clear your schedule,’ Augus said, and Gwyn raised his eyebrows.

‘I don’t think so, Augus.’

‘From sunset tonight, onwards. I want you to meet me in my room.’

Gwyn turned back to the desk, but he kept his torso turned partially towards Augus, which was – Augus realised – because Gwyn didn’t trust him.

_Excellent._

He couldn’t help it. He liked it when Gwyn was on his toes. Gwyn carefully cleaned his brushes until the water stopped staining red and green, and placed them down on his desk. Gwyn liked to buy time, he’d noticed.

When Gwyn turned back, Augus had raised his eyebrows back archly, waiting.

‘Do you think you can control yourself enough to not activate a blood-oath?’ Gwyn said, and Augus pressed a hand to his heart.

‘You wound me,’ Augus said. ‘Are you worried? Do you think you have enough self-preservation to know if I’m even close to activating it?’

Gwyn looked away for a second, looked back again.

‘Ah, see?’ Augus said. ‘Perhaps you’re not so stupid after all. Had some time to think about it, have you? Realised that you possibly should have stopped that earlier? Not that you had the presence of mind to.’

Gwyn shifted minutely on his chair. His hair was a mess, _as always._ He wasn’t wearing boots, which meant he’d finished with Court business some time ago. His fingertips were covered with small ink-stains. Augus’ mouth lifted in a half-smile.

‘I know you’re curious,’ he said. ‘I can tell. My room. After sunset. Try not to think about how I’ll retaliate if you don’t turn up.’

He half-expected Gwyn to make some comment about how Augus was the prisoner, and how Augus didn’t control his schedule, but he didn’t. Gwyn bit the inside of his lower lip. Augus could tell that movement now. He only needed to wait and-

‘After sunset,’ Gwyn confirmed, and Augus nodded.

He started to leave and then paused, turning back.

‘When did you last sleep?’

‘I’m _not_ sleeping, if that’s-’

Augus sighed.

‘When did you last sleep?’

Gwyn turned back to look at his map of...whatever it was. _Buying time._ Augus’ eyes narrowed when Gwyn lifted his hand to his head and rubbed briefly at his forehead. He didn’t even seem to notice that he’d done it. Gwyn took a heavy breath, sighed it out.

‘After the first time. After the poison, and the lake,’ Gwyn said, ‘The first time we, that you...’

Augus stared. That was _some_ time ago. That was...frightening. Even as King, he needed more sleep than that. He _knew_ Gwyn needed more sleep than that.

‘I’m not sleeping with-’

‘Calm down,’ Augus said, voice firming. ‘I haven’t asked you to, have I? I’m only gauging how tired you are.’

_No wonder the idiot fell apart last time._

But then, that would work in his favour.

A sleep-deprived Gwyn was one who was more malleable.

‘You don’t sleep enough,’ Augus said, and Gwyn stared at him evenly. There was a hint of that resistance that Augus had to bully his way through. Augus wasn’t interested in arguing with him on matters of sleep, not right now anyway. He needed a sleep-deprived Gwyn.

‘I don’t suppose you’ll be sleeping much tonight, either,’ Augus said, then closed the door behind him, walking back down the corridor towards his own rooms.

Augus would lay bets that Gwyn hadn’t had a healthy sleep pattern for a long time. He knew what that was like. Fae slept deeply, but they also dreamed deeply. Nightmares were crueller, lasted longer, dug their hooks in deep. It wasn’t uncommon for fae who had been traumatised to avoid sleeping, because once driven into the deep recesses of the mind, those nightmares were terribly hard to shake.

He knew that.

He saw signs of Gwyn’s lack of sleep. He’d caught him sitting on the floor in one of the many libraries, scrolls open and unrolled around him, head tilted on his shoulder and eyes half-lidded in the dozing state that fae entered when they didn’t feel safe enough to sleep. He’d observed him talking to the trows, only to break off, yawn hugely, stare blankly into space for a minute and then resume conversation. It was a side of Gwyn that he would lay bets most of his Court had _never_ seen. Not once – not _once –_ had Augus suspected or heard rumours that Gwyn might neglect rest when he’d been Unseelie King and actually asking around for information on his behaviours.  

Augus wanted sleep from him, too. It wasn’t likely that he’d ever observe it. And Gwyn, that _sneak,_ had come back into his room after Augus had sent him away and simply _watched_ him. It made him seethe that anyone had seen him like that. It had been bad enough when Ash had seen it, but that Gwyn saw it, refused to leave, _comforted_ him. Gwyn the clumsy, unsophisticated, unintentional brute...

Augus bared his teeth.

Because it meant that he _wasn’t_ just all of those things, _that_ wasn’t the truth of him.

Augus hated getting things wrong. It happened, of course, but that didn’t mean he didn’t _hate_ it.

*

It was a few minutes after sunset, and Augus was staring blankly at paragraphs in a book on Celtic folklore. He was still thinking about what he had planned. Wondering if Gwyn would be late. Turning details over in his mind.

Gwyn feared for his life. The plot against Ash hadn’t just been a plot against Ash, and Augus, but also one against Gwyn. It had been helmed by his family. It looked like Efnisien’s idea, but he was not a long-game strategist like Gwyn, like Gwyn’s father and mother. And Efnisien had ever been in the pocket of Crielle, everyone knew that. She directed him like a blunt-force instrument. And she’d directed him at Gwyn.

Which meant that Gwyn’s Kingship was disposable to his own family. An inconvenience. Being disappointed in your child was one thing. Plotting for their potential ousting from the throne was another. Augus knew about that too.

But Gwyn perceived his _life_ as being in danger. Not that it mattered, since Gwyn didn’t care for it very much. That was frustrating, Augus wanted to live, and his encounters with the fae world since imprisonment had taught him that he was one of the very few who felt that way. He needed a King who had issues with slaughtering prisoners. He certainly needed a King who was well-disposed to him.

He did not need a King who would stomp out onto a battlefield and get himself killed out of carelessness.

Which meant he had to find a way to make Gwyn more invested in himself.

Augus sensed Gwyn approaching and closed his book. Gwyn knocked briskly on Augus’ closed door. He didn’t open it and simply walk in, as many fae Kings and Queens would have. He waited for Augus to say he could enter.

Augus’ main room, where he slept, had two entrances. Gwyn entered off the long hallway with its stained glass windows, and then another door lead to a series of adjoined, private rooms. It was an unusual, convenient design. It gave him space. It gave him a sense of privacy. He would use the design himself again in the future, if he ever got a chance to. Not that he’d ever tell Gwyn that.

Augus put his book down, stood and circled Gwyn’s wrist with his hand, pulling him towards the second, closed door. Gwyn went with the movement, suspicious, but not resistant. The next room was another bedroom where Augus had stacked books he wanted to read. Gwyn looked at the spines curiously, which Augus didn’t mind, because it meant he was distracted while Augus led him into the room he’d refitted with the help of the trows.

Gwyn stopped when he saw it. His eyes widened. He surveyed the room even as Augus closed and locked the door behind him. At the click of the lock, Gwyn flinched and turned back, stared at the door handle. Gwyn could terraform the entire palace, he was strong enough to rip the door handle off the door, he could kick the door down; the lock was only a symbolic gesture.

Gwyn looked back at the room. The reinforced bed and benches, the tools of the trade that Augus used to keep in his rooms back home, even the darker decor, the dimmer lighting. His eyes lingered on the wooden cross.

‘Is it familiar?’ Augus said, slipping his hand underneath the back of Gwyn’s shirt and sliding fingertips along his muscles until he could rest his palm flat between his shoulder-blades, measuring his heartbeat. It was rapid, but not panicked.

‘This...’ Gwyn looked around, his heartbeat picked up further. ‘Perhaps I should be restricting what you can order through the trows.’

‘I think we’re a little past that, don’t you?’ Augus said, scraping the points of his fingernails down Gwyn’s skin. He felt gooseflesh prickle beneath his palm, and smoothed at it.

‘This is like the first time,’ Gwyn said, and Augus could hear that his mouth had gone dry. ‘Why?’

‘Take your clothing off,’ Augus ordered, pressing claw-tips into Gwyn’s skin.

Gwyn shuddered as he always did when asked to undress. He turned and looked at Augus, uncertain. The room had put him off-balance. The cross, in particular, had put him off-balance. Augus had only strapped Gwyn to a cross once, but he’d _broken_ Gwyn on it. It was something they hadn’t forgotten.

Augus slid his hand off Gwyn’s back, walked over to a heavy, reinforced table, where loops of rope rested, chains, lengths of silk, cases that contained sex toys, knives, other equipment. He picked up several lengths of reinforced rope, turned his back to the desk and leaned against it, watching Gwyn.

‘Off,’ Augus said, indicating his clothing.

Gwyn looked at the rope, looked at the cross. Normally Augus would say something about how long he was taking to make up his mind, but Augus wanted Gwyn to come to a decision about this himself.

Gwyn did. He reached up and took his shirt off, dropping it to the floor. There was no sign of the knife-wound, and Augus was glad to see the unmarred skin. Gwyn pulled his pants down and stepped out of them, and then simply stood there, unashamed and eyes roving, drinking in the details like they would somehow tell him what to expect.

Augus took a little more time to observe Gwyn. He was unscarred, except for that silvery nick at the back of his ribs which he couldn’t currently see. His skin was pale, he was muscular from thousands of years of training, which he reinforced on a daily basis. It was simple fact that Gwyn was a prime specimen of a fae who was in peak fitness, who privileged strength and brawn.

Even when Gwyn had been Court status, had turned up in Augus’ home asking for help, Augus had recognised that he was fine-looking. Appealing. And that had been before he’d heard him, had seen how beautifully he broke.

Augus walked up to him, holding the lengths of rope in his hands as he approached. He pressed himself up along Gwyn so that his clothing was touching Gwyn’s skin. He leaned the tip of his boot down on Gwyn’s foot. Gwyn went to step back absently, and Augus pressed down enough that Gwyn stilled.

‘Kiss me,’ Augus said, staring a challenge at him.

Gwyn looked around the room again, and Augus reached up and took his jaw in his fingers.

‘No, that’s not what I said.’

Gwyn’s eyes dropped to Augus’, and then down to his lips. But once more they darted up, over to the cross, and Augus pressed his claws down, making sure Gwyn could feel the edges. Gwyn jerked and looked back quickly, breathing shallow.

Gwyn shifted his foot slightly beneath Augus’ boot, testing, and Augus leaned down harder until Gwyn winced.

When Gwyn finally leaned down, pressed his lips against Augus’, Augus felt a small, corresponding sense of victory. Why expend a ridiculous amount of effort to bring someone to heel, when the simple symbol of pressing a boot down on someone’s bare foot created exactly the same effect?

Gwyn kissed him gently, lips soft against his mouth, and Augus responded by stroking the underside of his jaw until a heavy exhale gusted against the side of his face. Augus smirked and bit his upper lip, his lower, licking wetness into his dry mouth. Gwyn’s mouth opened fully and Augus stroked his tongue firmly along Gwyn’s. His breath hitched, he lifted a very tentative hand to Augus’ upper arm, and then dropped it before he made contact.

‘Step up to the cross,’ Augus whispered against his mouth. Gwyn tensed. ‘You remember.’

‘There was a reason for it last time,’ Gwyn said, uncertain.

‘There is a reason this time,’ Augus assured him.

Augus lifted his boot slightly, giving permission for Gwyn to move. And Gwyn – surprisingly – moved over to the cross, examining it. He pressed his palm against the wood, pushed lightly, as though testing its sturdiness. It was bolted to the floor in the middle of the room so that Augus could access both sides. It was sturdy. Augus had seen to that himself.

He stepped up and pushed Gwyn face forward into the cross, and Gwyn went with it. Not only that, but he lifted his hand to the first restraint. Was _helping._

Augus resisted the urge to laugh. Maybe Gwyn thought that if he did well now, Augus would go easy on him later. Still, seeing Gwyn actually lift his hand to the top of one of the cross struts, accepting the rope that Augus looped around the wood and his wrist, was rewarding. Gwyn’s regular habit was to lie there mutely, stubbornly, and make Augus do everything himself.

When Augus finished tying the first wrist, he ran the palm of his hand down Gwyn’s forearm in appreciation, making sure that Gwyn knew that he’d noticed. Gwyn said nothing, but he turned his head to the side, paused, and then raised his other arm.

‘I didn’t think you’d accept this so easily,’ Augus said, opting for honesty as he shifted Gwyn’s wrist to make sure it was braced properly against the strut.

‘Why?’ Gwyn said, sounding confused. ‘Because of last time?’

Augus trailed his fingertips down to Gwyn’s shoulder once he’d secured his second wrist, and squeezed.

‘Because of the first time. It was not an easy experience for you.’

Gwyn laughed under his breath. He said nothing. But there in the sound of it was the answer. Gwyn’s cynicism shone. This was someone who didn’t have easy experiences. Augus’ brow furrowed, and he cupped the back of Gwyn’s neck in his palm. Augus elected not to tie his ankles, because he wanted access to the front of him, and the cross would get in the way if he was fully tied.

Augus stepped up and pressed his body once more against Gwyn’s, feeling the contours and strength of him even through his clothing. He curved a hand around Gwyn’s torso, stroking down the line of his pelvis, not touching his cock. Between that and the hand on the back of his neck, Gwyn must have been thrown off once more, he took a long, shaky breath.

‘I want you to show me that light of yours,’ Augus said.

Gwyn’s response was immediate. He yanked both of his arms down hard, not just testing the restraints, but suddenly realising what the scene was going to be about.

_Perhaps you should have waited for me to tell you, before stepping up to the cross, Gwyn._

Gwyn yanked hard again, the cross held fast. It didn’t even shake.

‘The more you fight me, the harder it will be,’ Augus purred.

‘You’re not seeing it,’ Gwyn said. ‘You’ve seen it before. You don’t need to see it now.’

‘What an attitude to have,’ Augus said, stepping away and walking over to the desk. ‘And if you-’

A brief flash of light. Gwyn was going to _teleport._ Augus turned on quick reflexes and launched at him, leaping forwards and grabbing his hair in a fierce grip, dragging his head back roughly. The light Gwyn was using to teleport flickered out, and Augus jerked his head for good measure.

‘That’s not what I meant,’ Augus snarled.

‘There, you’ve seen it. Let me go,’ Gwyn retorted.

‘Oh no,’ Augus said, reaching up with a hand and stroking his fingertips over Gwyn’s bared throat. ‘You know _exactly_ what I mean. And a warning, then. If you teleport out of here, I will flay the skin from your back, _literally,_ knowing that you can grow it back.’

‘It’s been done,’ Gwyn said, voice flat.

Augus’ eyes widened, he squeezed at Gwyn’s throat, blocking off some of his air supply.

‘Do you _want_ me to simply keep coming up with more inventive ways of making you suffer, Gwyn? I seem to recall that fucking you with a cock ring will reduce you to begging. I don’t think it would take much to think of a suitable punishment.’

‘You don’t need to see it,’ Gwyn said, a thread of desperation entering his hoarse voice. ‘There’s nothing to see.’

‘Ah,’ Augus said. ‘Liar.’

He stepped back again, giving Gwyn’s throat another promising squeeze.

‘You’re not tired enough for this conversation,’ Augus said softly, walking back to the desk. He picked up a small case of equipment and brought it over, keeping an eye on Gwyn’s reactions. Gwyn twisted his wrists in the restraints.

Augus picked up the lubricant first, and covered his fingers liberally. He didn’t plan on fucking him now, or possibly at all, depending on how the evening went. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t still fill him up.

Augus stepped forward, kicked Gwyn’s legs apart, pressed two fingers against his entrance. Gwyn gasped, stilled. He pressed his ear over Gwyn’s heart, listened closely as he breached him, stretching him on his fingers. A sharp pick up in heart-rate, but then it steadied. Gwyn shivered against him. He was always tense, never relaxed. Augus pushed deeper, and Gwyn clenched against him reflexively.

‘Let me in,’ Augus said, turning his mouth against Gwyn’s back and licking him, tasting the familiar, stark flavour of him. ‘Let me in, open for me.’

Gwyn made a small, bitten off sound in the back of his throat.

‘Forget about the light,’ Gwyn said.

Augus pushed into him, not waiting for Gwyn to relax, trusting in both the lubricant and in Gwyn’s natural resilience. Gwyn hissed and then his head shifted forwards sharply, like he wanted to bump it into something. Augus didn’t stop until he was buried right up to the last knuckles, and then waited, gave Gwyn time to adjust. Gwyn was heat around his fingers, heat and the minute internal shifts that came from discomfort, from excitement. He wasn’t hard yet, but he would be soon.

Augus kept his ear pressed against Gwyn’s back, listened to his heart.

He curled his fingers slightly, testing, and Gwyn made that bitten off sound again. Deep, stifled, but there. Gwyn was far more vocal than Augus, far less able to master his breathing. As soon as his body was involved, Gwyn responded without guile. Augus withdrew his fingers and pushed them back, and Gwyn’s breathing stuttered, he shifted his legs. A sudden, louder exhale meant that Gwyn had opened his mouth.

‘You showed it to me in the lake,’ Augus said, starting up a slow, easy rhythm. It was awkward on his wrist, but that didn’t matter. It was worth it for the way that Gwyn was alternatively tensing and relaxing against him; appreciative, suspicious, his body being dragged along and his mind following behind him.

Gwyn said nothing, but his breathing hissed out of his nostrils on the next breath, which meant he’d closed his mouth.

_Keep it up, Gwyn. We’re only just starting._

The trick with Gwyn was simply to pull responses from his body until he got to where he needed to get to. He was so unused to touch, so unused to pleasure, that he fell into it fully. Given enough time, enough sensation, Gwyn became pliable. Augus was starting to suspect that the sweeter, earnest Gwyn he saw during aftercare was a reality that not many people had been fortunate enough to see. It was addictive.

He kept moving his fingers, scraping his teeth down Gwyn’s back, working up to a firm, rapid rhythm that had Gwyn clenching at the posts and arching forwards, looking for friction. Augus kept him back from the post with his other arm. Wrapped fingers tight around the base of his cock, making sure he couldn’t come. And then he paused at his entrance, stretching him and feeling the way his lungs were working in his chest, aborted words and noises that never even got enough air to catch in his throat.

He reached down, picked up the butt plug that he’d brought over, and slicked it with lubricant. Gwyn had tensed again, uncertain what was happening, and of course, they’d never done this before. Gwyn was used to ropes, not toys.

Augus pressed the domed head of it against his entrance and then pushed slowly, firmly, and Gwyn yanked on his restraints again, hard enough that he would have done damage to his wrists.

‘Don’t panic,’ Augus said softly. ‘This won’t hurt you.’

'What are you doing?’ Gwyn said, and his voice shook. The plug wasn’t as long, nor as wide as Augus. It didn’t need to be. But it wasn’t Augus, and Gwyn clearly didn’t take well to having foreign objects pushed into him.

‘I want to fuck you, but not now. This will keep you open for me.’

‘But-’

‘This won’t hurt you,’ Augus said again, splaying his palm against Gwyn’s torso, looking up at Gwyn’s wrists where they still twisted fretfully against his bonds. Augus chuckled. ‘Gwyn, you’ve just told me you’ve had the skin flayed off your back, we _know_ you were tortured by your cousin, but you’re scared of a butt plug? Really?’

Gwyn stopped moving at the taunt, but his hands remained tense.

‘Never done this before, have you?’ Augus said, and Gwyn swallowed audibly.

‘No,’ he said.

‘Good,’ Augus replied, pushing harder, watching Gwyn’s hands as the plug started to reach its widest point. Gwyn tensed further, and Augus hushed him, running his other hand along Gwyn’s side, soothing.

‘Nearly done,’ Augus said, and Gwyn didn’t respond. He was more attuned to what was happening, than to Augus’ words now. Augus pursed his lips, and then tilted the plug at an angle, and Gwyn jolted, a sound of want and surprise escaped his throat. Augus withdrew the plug and then pushed it back, angling and smirking when Gwyn made the sound again, shifting against the cross.

After the third time, pulling a cry from the back of his throat, Augus pushed the plug home, and Gwyn made a tense, uncomfortable sound as it fit, snug, inside of him. Augus simply patted the base of it, and dragged his now free hand around to Gwyn’s front, squeezing the length of his cock. He was surprised that Gwyn was only half-hard, made a mental note to explore whatever issues he seemed to have with toys. They were meant to be fun, not frightening.

‘Do you feel full?’ Augus said.

Gwyn groaned as Augus started moving his hand over his cock, pressing firmly along the underside, dragging his fingertips down. Gwyn was hardening within his hand. The man might have the stamina of a rutting rabbit, but he was well-sized, and Augus liked the feel of him.

‘Answer me,’ Augus said, squeezing Gwyn firmly. Gwyn’s mouth dropped open, he gasped for breath.

‘Augus,’ Gwyn said, as though that was an adequate answer. As much as Augus loved hearing his own name on Gwyn’s lips, it wasn’t good enough.

‘Try again,’ Augus said, pressing the tip of one of his claws into Gwyn’s sensitive flesh. Gwyn’s wrists jerked at the restraints automatically.

 _‘Yes,’_ Gwyn groaned, pressing his head into his arm.

Augus raised his other hand up and pressed the heel of his palm into the flat of the plug, forcing it deeper. Gwyn cried out, mouth opening against his own skin. Augus twisted the base, and Gwyn sunk teeth into his own flesh, and Augus hadn’t even really started yet.

This was _wonderful._

Augus reached up and curled his hand around Gwyn’s throat, keeping his other hand on his cock. He had one leg braced against Gwyn’s left ankle, keeping it stretched out. And then he dug his fingers – careful of his claws – into Gwyn’s windpipe and started cutting off circulation. He closed his eyes, summoned waterhorse strength, and crushed his fingers into his throat, cutting off his air supply completely.

Gwyn tried to move his neck out of Augus’ grip, but between his arms being stretched up and tied to the cross, and Augus’ hand moving rhythmically on his cock, he couldn’t get the coordination he needed. Augus pressed his ear back between Gwyn’s shoulder blades and listened. Gwyn was aroused, but not panicking. Even unable to breathe, he wasn’t panicking.

He tightened his fingers menacingly against his neck, and Gwyn suddenly tugged his arms down, protesting against the lack of air. He was incredibly hard in Augus’ palm, and Augus laughed under his breath.

He waited a little longer, until Gwyn was moving his wrists with less focus, until one of his arms went slack against its ties. He released his grip and massaged Gwyn’s throat carefully, as Gwyn coughed and dragged down breath after breath.

‘Not again,’ Gwyn said, and Augus pressed his fingers up against his pulse and closed his eyes. It was rapid, flighty, but he knew Gwyn could take more.

‘Yes, again,’ Augus said, and Gwyn shook his head, hard as ever, precome leaking out of the tip of his cock. ‘You’re doing well.’

Gwyn shuddered against him, a full-body motion that rippled down his entire spine. Augus closed his eyes briefly, took a deep breath. But he wanted the light more than he wanted to see how Gwyn responded to praise while tied up and at his mercy. He needed to wear him out. Just a little. Gwyn was already so tired.

Augus tightened his fingers around Gwyn’s neck again, and Gwyn was in the middle of voicing some protest, when his airways were cut off.

‘It must be difficult,’ Augus said, tightening his grip around Gwyn’s neck and his cock before he realised how close Gwyn was to coming and adjusted, shifting his hand down to wrap tightly around the base of him. He applied pressure and Gwyn began trembling, sandwiched between Augus and the bars of the cross, unable to come. ‘It must be difficult with all of this happening at once. You’re not a multi-tasker at all off the battlefield, are you? Is it overwhelming? I know you’re close.’

Augus felt a sudden hot sear on the hand he had around Gwyn’s neck and his eyes narrowed. He let go and as Gwyn gasped for breath, Augus reached up and touched the tears that were making their way down Gwyn’s face.

Augus began to get hard. He shook his head at himself. _Every time, like clockwork._

‘Let me...’ Gwyn managed, but couldn’t finish his sentence. His voice was ragged.

‘I’m sorry, you’re tied to a cross, what exactly do you think I’ll let you do?’

‘Can, can I come?’ Gwyn said, tilting his head back, gulping down breaths of air. The question, the desperation in his tone of voice was a balm to Augus, a warmth that spread watery tendrils through him. He bit his bottom lip and wanted, so wanted to say _yes._

‘Soon,’ Augus promised. ‘Very soon.’

‘I-’

‘Show me your light,’ Augus whispered, and Gwyn made a small, high sound in the back of his throat. Followed by a wrecked burst of laughter. Augus’ eyes narrowed. He waited for a response, waited more, and Gwyn said nothing at all.

‘I don’t understand this insistence of yours to refuse to use it,’ Augus said, a wash of frustration moving through him. ‘Every fae knows the importance of honouring your innate power. It’s _good_ for you, to use it.’

There was a long pause, and then Gwyn drew in a deep, shaking breath.

‘Fuck off, Augus,’ Gwyn managed, and Augus’ eyes flew open in shock.

_No, he did not just-_

_‘Excuse me?’_ Augus said, digging his fingers back into Gwyn’s throat, nicking him with his claws and sending two trickles of blood down the left-hand side of his neck. ‘What did you just say to me?’

‘Leave...it,’ Gwyn gasped with the small amount of air he managed to drag into his lungs before Augus cut off his airways again.

He had expected stubbornness, but he hadn’t expected the level of resistance that Gwyn was throwing at him, precisely because Gwyn had _never_ been so resistant with him before. Not for any reason. Not even when he’d been made to talk about forcing cannibalism on an innocent lad. It bewildered him.

Gwyn was struggling once more against the bonds. Augus was observant, attentive, listening to his heart-rate and mapping out its labour in his mind, but if Gwyn thought that he could out-stubborn Augus, he had another thing coming.

And so, over the next fifteen minutes, Augus intermittently cut off Gwyn’s airways with his hand, pricking several more wounds into the side of his neck. He needed to keep his other hand banded around the base of Gwyn’s cock almost entirely now. He was so _close._ Gwyn’s muscles were trembling beneath his skin, he gasped for air whenever he was allowed, but he didn’t talk, he didn’t plead, he didn’t show his light.

And Augus, in some amazement, let go of Gwyn’s throat and kept his hand there, feeling the hungry way he scoured the room for air. And then he relented and started jerking Gwyn off roughly. It was less than ten seconds that Gwyn’s hips thrust forward so hard that Augus yanked him back before he hurt himself against the surface of the cross. He moaned brokenly as he came, his body jolting with the spasms that wracked him.

No light, no words, nothing. When Gwyn was done, his body went lax, he let himself hang from the restraints. There were trickles of blood making their way down his forearms; the bonds had cut open both of his wrists. Augus striped fingers across the blood, then painted his way into Gwyn’s open mouth, touching it to his tongue. Gwyn’s mouth dropped open wider. His tongue moved sleepily against Augus’ fingers. The lazy movements sent a thick curl of warmth through Augus’ body.

Gwyn was covered in a sheen of sweat, and Augus licked at his shoulder blade, blinking at the salt of it. He moved the fingers in Gwyn’s mouth to the outside of his cheek, stroking the curves and angles of his face gently. When Augus licked him again, after that, Gwyn made a small, involuntary sound that was pained.

‘It would make you stronger on a battlefield,’ Augus said against his skin. ‘Given how much you care about strength on a battlefield, I don’t understand why you won’t use it when it’s such an _asset._ Do you remember, when I told you it wasn’t a sin to be yourself? Do you? Is this some form of demented hatred directed at yourself? Because let me assure you Gwyn, amongst raping prisoners and forced cannibalism and all the other things you’ve done, hating yourself for your _power_ is honestly one of the stupidest things I’ve ever heard of.’

Augus kissed the back of Gwyn’s neck, and Gwyn shook his head, a denial. Though whether it was a denial of the kiss, or Augus’ words, Augus couldn’t tell.

He moved his hand from Gwyn’s cheek, threaded fingers through his sweat-damp, soft hair. It curled around his fingers, it clung. He trailed fingers along Gwyn’s scalp, rubbing gently behind his ear, and his eyes flickered up when Gwyn’s hands flexed fretfully, when his wrists shifted in the restraints.

It wasn’t the words at all. It was the _touch._

Augus watched one of Gwyn’s hands as he pressed lips to the curve of his shoulder, as he stroked fingers through the softer hair that grew at the base of his neck. And again, Gwyn shifted his wrists fractiously, and a moment later a short, sharp exhale marred the longer breaths he was taking to replenish his air.

‘You would feel better if you just showed me. Who would I tell? No one is here except you and I. Aren’t you tired?’ Augus crooned. ‘I know you are. And especially now. You-’

 _‘Leave it,’_ Gwyn managed, voice raw.

Augus ground his teeth together, pressed his forehead to the back of Gwyn’s shoulder.

‘I am trying to make this easier on you,’ Augus said.

‘Then you’re going soft,’ Gwyn replied, his voice breaking.

Augus’ eyes snapped open, and he stilled.

‘Is that a challenge?’ he said, each word precise.

‘No,’ Gwyn groaned. ‘ _No._ Only that, I’m not going to show you the light, Augus, and whether you go easy or hard on me...it makes no difference. In this, in this it will make no difference.’

Augus stepped back from him, jaw tense. He consciously exhaled, blew the tension away, walked over to his desk and opened up another case. He bypassed a blade made of _Ingrit_ that gave him a cold chill and picked up another.

There was no real ‘going hard on Gwyn,’ in the physical sense, because Gwyn was inured to physical torture. Broken bones, strained muscles, stab wounds, burns...everyone who knew of Gwyn on a battlefield also knew of his immunity to torture on the rare occasion that he was captured.

He stepped around the cross this time, faced Gwyn from the front of it. After a minute, Gwyn lifted his head and saw first Augus’ face, and then the knife that he held in his hands. His eyes widened, and then a hunger lit in their pale, blue depths. He swallowed. Even after his experiences with the knife last time, Gwyn still, _still,_ wanted it.

Augus had to laugh.

‘Oh, Gwyn. I swear, you are one of the few people I’ve known who looks at a knife and thinks, ‘ _Cut me.’’_

Gwyn’s mouth worked on a second swallow, and he looked up at Augus.

‘ _Ingrit?’_ he said, and Augus shook his head. Was that a survival instinct? Augus couldn’t tell.

‘No. Not this time.’

Augus approached. The wooden planks crossed in the middle of Gwyn’s torso, but still exposed enough of him to the blade. Augus wanted him to see it coming. He reached up and stroked a stray tangle of hair away from Gwyn’s face, pressing the flat of the blade to the divot of skin between his pectorals. Gwyn sucked in a long breath, opened his mouth on a syllable that didn’t become a word.

Augus tilted the knife, placed gentle fingers alongside Gwyn’s cheek. He dipped the tip of the blade just beneath Gwyn’s skin, and sliced a long, thin line down the centre of him. The blade was so sharp, Augus’ knife control so refined, that only a single droplet of blood emerged. Augus bent down and licked it away, savouring it.

Gwyn shivered against his mouth, fine tremors that showed how sensitive he was to what Augus was doing. The pain would be a concentration-grabbing sting, but hardly anything really. The wound, slight as it was, would close completely in a matter of minutes. This wasn’t the brutal knife work he’d done last time, but a proper use of his skills. And Gwyn responded like he was made for it.

Augus smoothed his thumb over the corner of Gwyn’s mouth. Mixing gentleness up with the kiss of the blade. Gwyn brought out some deep, strange protective instinct. It went far beyond what he had felt for clients, and it was different to what he felt for Ash. It was also somewhat ridiculous. Gwyn had been managing his family, the Seelie Court, a Kingdom, vicious enemies, for thousands of years. He was _capable._

But like this, wrists dripping blood and shivering, head bowed and breath shaking out of him, Augus could think of many other words that applied instead.

He waited a couple of minutes, only a short amount of time, before curving another thin, red line underneath his pectoral muscle, trailing the knife down and remembering to keep his breathing slow and steady when the blade broke another noise from the back of Gwyn’s ruined throat. Augus feathered fingertips through Gwyn’s hair, and Gwyn clumsily tried to move his head backwards, like it was an irritant. The bindings around his wrists prevented him, and Augus simply reached forwards and did it again, deliberately.

‘Augus,’ Gwyn said, and then his mouth closed around a sound as Augus trailed a claw-tip over the wound he’d just made.

Augus waited even longer, let minutes tick by. Gwyn raised his eyes, met his gaze. There was a tired despair there, a hunger for the blade alongside something resigned.

He walked behind Gwyn, removing eye contact, knowing it made him uncomfortable. He pressed the tip of the blade against his back to the left of his spine, and Gwyn shifted. When Augus trailed the knife down again, another thin, barely-there wound, he reached forwards and pressed the heel of his palm against the plug again. Gwyn exhaled a sharp breath, _whined._

Time passed. Augus let minutes lapse between each new knife wound. He took so long between each cut, that the wounds at the front of his chest had healed completely. Gwyn was shaking with increasing violence. So much so, that Augus was having to brace Gwyn against the knife itself, to make sure Gwyn didn't force the knife deeper accidentally. Sweat glistened on his skin, his hair had turned to ringlets because of it. The strain of each cut, the anticipation, the sting of it, and Gwyn not knowing when or where the next would come...it was adding up.

Especially as Augus kept reaching out to trail the back of his fingers down his ribs, or to palm the front of his hip, or to curl a lock of hair around his finger and then tug.

After an hour, Gwyn suddenly sagged in his bonds, let the ropes hold him up. He rested his head against his arm.

‘You’re so tired,’ Augus said quietly.

Gwyn said nothing, didn’t even nod.

‘You could show me the light, and this would all be over.’

Gwyn whined again, then shook his head.

‘It would be _easy,’_ Augus said. ‘I know you enjoy the blade, but look how tired you are. You can barely hold yourself up. If you were needed for a battle right now, you’d be useless.’

At that, Gwyn rallied and pulled himself upright, crying out as the bonds rubbed raw into his wrists. Augus smirked, traced his fingers along the latest knife mark, this one a long stretch from the back of his shoulder down to the inner curve of his elbow.

‘Let me go,’ Gwyn rasped, his voice tired. ‘I know what you’re doing. Do you think fatigue hasn’t been used against me before?’ 

Augus reached up and palmed the back of Gwyn’s head, and Gwyn jerked away, hissing. Augus followed the motion and rubbed his palm across the curve of his head tenderly, grimacing as Gwyn’s wrists jerked on his restraints again. This worked, but he didn’t like that it worked.

‘I think I know what I’m doing,’ Augus said.

Gwyn opened his mouth, inhaled to say something, and then closed it again. Augus’ eyes narrowed.

A flicker of doubt, a stray water droplet falling into the calm of his mind, and he paused. Gwyn had given up the information about Nwython and Cyledr because he had, in part, _wanted_ to. He’d wanted to be absolved. But one couldn’t be absolved from a crime without naming that crime. But what else had Gwyn willingly given up? Not sleep. Not this. Hardly anything concrete about his family history, and what he had given was often unknowingly surrendered when he didn’t realise the implications of what he was saying.

Augus took the blade to Gwyn’s flesh again, carefully, eyebrows furrowed. Augus had an indomitable will. He always had. Even when he wasn’t trying to actively dominate the people around him, everyone barring his brother tended to fall to the hidden persuasion in his very being. Even when he wasn’t compelling people with his words, simple eye contact could sway a person’s mind to his favour.

_Do you really know what you’re doing, with him?_

Augus scowled at himself, and he went back to focusing on pressing Gwyn open with the blade with a gentle hand. After only twenty minutes Gwyn sagged again. He made a sound of protest.

‘Augus, I-’

His voice choked off when Augus twisted the butt plug inside of him.

‘The light,’ Augus demanded, and Gwyn growled in frustration. The sound rumbled out of him, and a moment later he jerked _hard_ at the restraints. He didn’t seem to be trying to get away, but expressing his own irritation with what was happening.

Augus lifted a brow.

‘I’m not sure why you’re so annoyed,’ Augus said, rubbing his knuckles at the base of Gwyn’s spine. ‘It’s only a simple request.’

An explosion of movement then. Gwyn kicked back at Augus hard, causing a blaze of pain in Augus’ shin when he didn’t get out of the way fast enough. Gwyn yanked at the bonds over and over again. Augus had expected this, in part, but this was not even like Gwyn’s struggles during the sounding. It was violent, and Augus stepped back around to the front of the cross, watching him closely.

Gwyn lifted his head, pinned him with a feral gaze and actually snarled at him, jerking so hard at the restraints that the flow of blood down his right wrist became significant. He was a wild creature backed into a corner.

Gwyn could have an out, if he chose it.

‘I won’t tell _anyone,’_ Augus said, modulating his voice, making it soothing.

Gwyn cried out, fractious, and the noise escalated until Gwyn roared at him, droplets of blood flicking off his wrists as he shook them violently.

‘This is rather impressive,’ Augus said, condescending, though secretly he thought that it was. ‘But we’re not done yet.’

Augus took a single step back to him and Gwyn stopped, motionless, and watched him for several more seconds, and then literally – right in front of his eyes – the awareness that Gwyn had, the consciousness in his eyes, it vanished. Gwyn’s mind was in the room one moment, and had disappeared the next.

Augus stared.

Gwyn’s gaze was unfocused, he’d sagged fully against the bonds once more. Slowly, as though someone was letting his head down on a string, Gwyn’s head tilted forwards until it hung limply. Breath shuddered out of him.

Augus stepped up to him and pressed a hand quickly to his heart, and then up to the pulse at his neck. It was rapid, panicked, but Gwyn was gone. This was exactly what he’d encountered when he’d sounded him.

Augus made a small noise of frustration.

He pressed his hand to Gwyn’s slick forehead and lifted it, looking for eye contact. He found none. A blank, pale blue stare, as though Gwyn had simply wiped his own mind clean. He saw it in humans sometimes, when despair and resignation clashed inside of their heads and they knew they were about to be eaten.

Gwyn _chose_ it.

Augus hissed a breath out between his teeth and walked back over to the table, picking up a cloth and cleaning the knife, placing it back in the case.

He’d brought Gwyn back from this before, and he was certain he could do it again. But it was obvious that if Gwyn was pushed too hard, he simply checked out of a scene and disappeared. No wonder he was so good at dealing with torture.

Augus wasn’t getting the light. Not this way. Possibly not ever. It confounded him.

He walked back to Gwyn and looked at the mess of his wrists, at the sweat trickling down his back. He placed his fingers in it, smeared it across his skin. Gwyn’s skin was cooling. He was beginning to go into shock. Augus squeezed his eyes shut for several seconds, and then dismissed the wash of emotion that came with that knowledge.

‘Alright,’ Augus said, placing both hands on his back and splaying his hands, offering contact.

Gwyn said nothing, but Augus didn’t expect him to. He stroked his hands over Gwyn’s back several times, making the strokes long, centring.

Augus didn’t want to remove the plug while Gwyn was still absent, so he wrapped one of his hands around the front of Gwyn’s torso and stroked his abdomen, pressing his ear to Gwyn’s back and listening to his heart-rate. He couldn’t untie him yet. Soon, but not yet.

‘I don’t understand,’ Augus said. ‘You’ve used it before. I’ve seen it. More than once now.’

There was no answer, but at least Gwyn’s heart-rate was slowing.

Augus rubbed steady, firm circles into his chest and abdomen, listening to his heart, shin still hurting where Gwyn had slammed the heel of his foot into it. He would lay bets that the bone was bruised. He dreaded to think what might have happened if Gwyn had actually gotten himself free in that moment.

Time passed, Augus moved lower on Gwyn’s skin, and was surprised when – on pressing the heel of his palm into Gwyn’s hip – Gwyn inhaled sharply.

Augus rubbed at his hipbone with his fingers, and then drifted lower, to the crease between thigh and pelvis.

‘Are you coming back?’ Augus whispered. His fingers drifted sideways and he shook his head on a half-smile when he felt that Gwyn was hardening, again.

‘I swear, your cock would lead you back from the dead, if it would just give you another chance to come.’

Augus slowly wrapped his hand around Gwyn’s cock and rubbed it with the same steady firmness with which he’d touched his belly, his chest. Gwyn opened his mouth, an unconscious, deep sound coming from the back of his throat. It was hungry, it was delicious.

Augus touched the base of the plug with his other hand, and twisted it.

Gwyn cried out, his cock hardened rapidly in Augus’ hand. And Augus, surprised at himself, hardened quickly in his own pants. He hadn’t realised how much of his own arousal he’d been holding back. It flooded back through his mind and then down his spine, and he swallowed. He tightened his hand reflexively around Gwyn’s cock, and then let go, hurriedly undoing the buttons on his own pants, releasing himself.

He pressed his chest up against Gwyn’s back, arching his hips so he could remove the butt plug slowly. When the widest point exited, Gwyn made a strangled sound, inarticulate but still sweet. As soon as Augus had withdrawn it, he reached around once more and took Gwyn in hand. He pressed his fingers inside Gwyn, feeling a looseness, plenty of lubricant still remaining inside of him, and withdrew his fingers. He wrapped his other hand around himself, angling himself against Gwyn’s entrance, exhaling hard.

Augus pushed his way inside, and Gwyn was lax against him. That wasn’t only the result of the plug, he was sure. That was exhaustion.  

Gwyn’s body shifted weakly and he cried out again, hoarse, a wordless sound of want. Augus swallowed saliva down his throat and then bit down hard into flesh, tasting blood between his teeth. When Gwyn whimpered, Augus rumbled a dark sound of approval at him in response.

He licked at the bite mark, waited for his own release. He could feel that it was close.

Gwyn was too tired to speak, too tired to even brace himself up against the restraints, but he pushed his hips into Augus’ hand and made a thready, broken noise that pleaded.

‘Ask and I shall deliver,’ Augus said, withdrawing and thrusting hard into Gwyn, rocking him forwards, even as his hand began to move on his cock. Gwyn’s response was one of almost mindless desire, ragged sounds that tore out of him and stoked the heat in Augus’ gut. Augus was happy to indulge, knowing that it would hopefully keep Gwyn anchored in the present, give him a thread by which to follow his way back to him.

He sought his own release swiftly, not wanting to leave Gwyn restrained for much longer. He jerked his hips on the upstroke, and smirked when Gwyn started exhaling sounds with every breath, gasping for air. That, combined with twisting his palm over the head of Gwyn’s cock, and pressing fingers down on the underside with the downstroke, meant that Gwyn didn’t have long at all.

‘You could give me this instead,’ Augus said against the bite mark he’d etched into his skin. ‘You could come for me.’

Gwyn made a series of sharp cries, one after the other, escalating. It was rare for Augus to even hear him like this, usually Gwyn was trying to hide the noises he made, but like this, hearing how loud he was getting, knowing that he was responsible for it, Augus gritted his teeth and forced himself to _wait_ because Gwyn was only seconds away, only-

Gwyn sobbed as he came, and those simple, desperate cries were what tipped Augus over the edge. He groaned as he thrust deep, spilling himself inside Gwyn, his mind turning everything to steam and heat and thermal springs. He groaned again, pressing his forehead hard to Gwyn’s back, gasping.

He let the aftershocks pass, closed his eyes, sensitive to the feel of Gwyn’s walls clenched around him, of Gwyn softening in the palm of his hand.

He withdrew slowly, and Gwyn made a small sound of protest.  

‘Hush,’ Augus said. ‘The sooner I clean you up, the sooner we can get you lying down. Hold on for a few minutes, just a few.’

Augus took a handtowel from the desk and dipped it into a basin of water before cleaning himself off, cleaning his palm and fingers. He pulled up his pants, buttoned them, and then took another handtowel and wetted it thoroughly.

He pressed it flat against Gwyn’s back first, so that he’d know what it was, and then started to rub off sweat and the odd, tiny stains of blood that no longer had wounds of origin. He used grounding, circular motions, and was thorough. He bent and cleaned Gwyn’s limp member carefully, and Gwyn whimpered, like he hadn’t expected it. It was an odd, disarmed sound. When Augus knelt down to start rubbing the sweat off his legs, he was suddenly struck by how much he didn’t mind this. He trailed the handtowel up between Gwyn’s legs, cleaned the come leaking out of him and savoured the satisfaction he felt at seeing that.

He realised he’d need another towel for Gwyn’s wrists. He walked back and fetched it.

Gwyn made a pained noise when Augus started sponging away the blood, but he subsided and Augus kept going, not stopping until he reached the wounds themselves. At that, he tossed the towel down to the ground and reached up, untying the restraints on his right arm. Augus caught his arm before it could fall, lowered it slowly, aware that Gwyn’s shoulders would be sore. Gwyn hummed out a thin sound, but didn’t protest beyond that.

Gwyn wasn’t getting his legs up underneath himself though, and Augus winced. It was no matter, but he had hoped that some of Gwyn’s strength would have returned to him by now.

As soon as Gwyn’s second wrist was released, Augus braced himself as Gwyn’s back fell against his chest. Gwyn weighed a ton. He was almost entirely solid muscle, broadly built, and having that sagging against him as a dead weight was something he could only manage with his waterhorse strength.

Augus wrapped one arm tight underneath his arm, and with the other, encouraged Gwyn to tilt his head back against his shoulder. He lazily trailed his fingers through his fringe, smoothing damp curls away from his forehead. He repeated the movements over and over, keeping them slow, soothing.

‘There,’ Augus said. ‘You did so well. It’s over now.’

Gwyn made a sound of acknowledgement, it was layered thickly with exhaustion.

‘Gwyn, can you teleport?’

Augus closed his eyes, waited, kept carding his fingers through Gwyn’s hair. Gwyn didn’t respond. Augus could feel how his lungs worked heavily for air. He could hear him breathing. His eyes widened when he felt Gwyn tilt his head, only slightly, into the palm of Augus’ hand. It was...Gwyn didn’t often do that. Augus murmured a sound at him, pleased.

‘Gwyn, I can take you back to my room, right now, but I think you’d be more comfortable in your own room. Can you take us there?’

He waited again. He didn’t know what to expect. He was simply relieved he’d managed to bring him back, at least partly, so quickly.

Gwyn whined. Talking was clearly too much of an ask.

‘Listen to me, are you listening? You don’t have to make a decision now. But I think you can teleport us back to your room. I’ll take care of everything else. It’s the last thing you need to do.’

Augus dropped his eyes to Gwyn’s clothes and realised he’d have to pick them up later. He couldn’t deal with them now. He opened his mouth to remind Gwyn that it was done, they were through the worst of it, when he felt himself suddenly limned with light and closed his eyes as he dissolved into warmth.

They landed by Gwyn’s bed, and Augus made a sound of annoyance as he awkwardly handled Gwyn while simultaneously pulling blankets back. And if Gwyn didn’t exactly land gracefully on his own sheets, well, no one else was watching, and that meant Augus could pretend he executed that very well.

Gwyn rolled over onto his back, eyes closed, and Augus stared when he realised that Gwyn was falling asleep. He leaned over and placed a hand against his heart and couldn’t believe it.

He supposed he shouldn’t be so surprised, but every other time they’d done anything remotely tiring, Gwyn had always remained stubbornly awake afterwards, had only let himself doze. But this was... _sleep._

‘Gwyn?’ Augus said, and Gwyn didn’t respond. ‘Gwyn, I don’t want to leave you alone like this, you should...’

_Just stay. Get even. The bastard’s watched you sleep before._

Augus rolled his eyes and reluctantly pulled the blankets up, pressing a hand to Gwyn’s forehead. It was warmer than usual, but Gwyn’s temperature fluctuated under stress. At least he didn’t seem to be going into shock anymore. He pulled out Gwyn’s chair and sat in it, crossing his legs, lips thinning.

‘My centre has changed,’ Augus said, though Gwyn wasn’t awake to hear him. Of that he was certain. ‘How long have you known for? I’ve gone back and forth between knowing it, and only suspecting it, which I think is normal? I’ve never been through this before...’

He knew that in older, different circumstances, he would have dragged Gwyn’s awareness back to the present, only to break him over and over again. He would have pitted his will against Gwyn’s and he may not have won, but he would have given himself _days_ in which to make a good attempt. And Augus knew because Gwyn had fucked him against that wall after they’d killed his soldiers, had taken control, had _possessed,_ and Augus had been shocked by how much pleasure had unfurled through him.

He didn’t know it could be like that.

He didn’t know what anything would be like, if his centre ever changed. The first time it was ever shaken out of his clutches, he’d clawed it back desperately.

But then, it was the only thing he’d had left to himself, at the time.

There was no point in regretting its loss. It was gone, it wasn’t going to come back. He had an inkling of what might be coming on its heels, and it shocked him, disturbed him, but...it wasn’t unwelcome.

Perhaps that was most shocking of all.

‘I’m sure, actually,’ Augus said, looking around Gwyn’s room and making a face at it. It was so _hunter-chic._ Even if the wood was tasteful, even if it was all well-made. His parents must have despaired of him. His mother especially.

‘Yours is gone,’ Augus said. ‘And nothing yet to take its place. I preferred you most when it was wildness, but I don’t think that’s where it’s headed. We’ll see. You change centres like most people change clothing.’

Augus walked over to the bed, stripping down and laying his clothing out on the desk, circumspect. Gwyn was prone to nightmares – he was sure – and Augus had pushed him too hard again. He couldn’t leave. Gwyn could rail at him the next day, or whenever he woke up, but Augus wouldn’t leave him to deal with that on his own. It wasn’t like Gwyn was going to revoke his status, or put him in a cell anymore. Of that much he was almost certain.

He lifted the blankets and sat on the bed, tucking his legs underneath and lifting Gwyn’s wrist carefully, looking at the damage. It was bad. They would not be healed by morning.

‘I’m missing something,’ Augus said softly. ‘Aren’t I? I’m always missing something with you.’

He sighed, vexed, and lay down on his side. He was aware of the strangeness, an ex-King lying down alongside the King who had defeated him once. But Augus had defeated him first, and Augus had defeated him since.

Augus watched Gwyn for a few more minutes, allowing his eyes to hood. He let slower, deeper breathing take over. He didn’t need to sleep and he wanted to be near wakefulness in case anything happened. To that end, he let himself enter a familiar doze, finding satiety and warmth alongside Gwyn, resting in the still lake of his mind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, 'Truth:' 
> 
> ‘I was six,’ Gwyn said, swallowing. ‘My mother and father spent a lot of their time telling me not to use my power. And I-’


	23. Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HHHHHHHHH IT'S HERE. This chapter was such a pivotal moment for me, and like...you'll see why, very soon. No new tags, no new warnings, no porn, just a fuckload of hurt/comfort, and some Gwyn reveals. Enjoy! 
> 
> PS: There will be a bit more of a delay between this chapter and chapter 23 (since chapter 23 needs some major construction work), but here we go. I would really appreciate comments or feedback for this one (if you have the energy or are so inclined), and as always, you guys who are reading this, you rock my cotton socks. :D

In his dream, he was six years old, seething by the eastern wing of the family An-Fnwy estate. The boiling, glittering light coruscated inside of him, it rose in temperature. It made his blood sear, it was a mean, driven thing. A monster lived inside of him.

His father had dismissed him _again._ He’d tried so hard, so hard to lift the long-sword, and he’d _done_ it! And then his father had dismissed him for not being able to hold it for longer than ten minutes. Not strong enough. Never strong enough.

He knew, already, that there were things he was supposed to do, things he was supposed to get right, things he was never supposed to talk about, things he was never supposed to show. Everyone else got to demonstrate their inner powers or abilities, but Gwyn was not allowed. They had told that to him, they had yelled it at him, they had beaten it into his flesh.

But even at the age of six he woke up from nightmares sometimes, large nightmares, larger than his small body could contain, where he turned into light and the whole world dissolved in its heat. And he would wake up convinced that whatever power he had, it wasn’t the right one. The world had got it wrong somehow. That was what his mother maintained. ‘Creature, the laws of nature can go awry. And I can assure you they did in your case. You must never show the true nature of your power to _anyone_. Imagine the horrible things they might do to you, if they knew.’

He had been six, and by the estate, and the light had been at the surface, just beneath his skin. He made attempt after attempt to quell it. He remembered trying so hard to keep it hidden. In the end it hadn’t mattered.

The world had split into a fierce, explosive light. It smashed through every material object in a radius of several kilometres and his six year old self was terrified. Not only because of what he’d done but because of how much _more_ waited within, how endless his power was. It roared through the web of his cells, turned him blind, and his tiny fingernails cut half-moons into his palms to stop whatever eternity of light yawned wide and gaping inside of him. And it _hurt._

He fought against himself to push that light down below once more. Fought with claws and teeth and brute strength and tenacity, smashed it back down. The light wouldn’t listen, thought of nothing except replicating itself and spreading, burning and splintering and splitting everything in its path, annihilating the life within collections of atoms, fizzling through the existence of others.

Gwyn panicked, forgot he was dreaming. He fought against himself to shut down the light as it scoured him out from the inside, removed his ability to think. His hand flailed up to scratch hard at his face and he shouted hoarsely when it was caught in a tight grip. The light had never done that before. It wasn’t sentient. It couldn’t _learn._ His other hand was caught and pain flared in the centre of his forearms, two bursts of sensation that couldn’t compete with the light, he shouldn’t have slept, he should have known better, it was too dangerous, too-

A weight settled on top of him. He fought against that too. His forehead slammed up and met nothing but space. Did no one understand that he needed to get rid of the light, for everyone’s sake? He saw the wasteland in the back of his mind, the one that had never recovered, the one that had changed everything, and it would happen _again_ and everyone would _know_ and he had worked so hard, so _hard_ , had tried to keep his head down and stay out of the limelight except that his centre had twisted into something that would try and get his father’s approval which was _stupid_ because approval came only when he truly stayed out of the limelight and now he was King and everyone would find out about him, everyone would _know,_ everyone would _know,_ and-

Pain smashed through the centre of his head and he woke with a start, two fingernails pressing hard into the vertebrae at the back of his neck. Augus was lying on top of him, eyes wide.

He released the pressure points as soon as he saw that Gwyn was awake.

Gwyn looked wildly around the room even as his head throbbed with residual pain. Everything was intact. Everything was upright and intact and the Court was still standing and Augus was alive and there was no residual light. It had only been a dream. Just a dream. The one he so often had.

He whimpered. He couldn’t catch his breath. He tried to push Augus off him, but Augus wouldn’t move.

He realised belatedly that he felt weak. His wrists felt bruised and torn. And _then_ remembered that Augus had spent the evening tormenting him on the cross, fucking him senseless, pushing about his power, the _light_.He would never have slept, never have had the stupid _dream,_ if it wasn’t for _Augus._ He almost threw the waterhorse off him. Almost.

Except that Augus was lying on top of him, and cradled the back of his neck with one hand. His other palm rested against the side of his face. He looked at Gwyn like he cared.

Gwyn knew it was nothing more than surprise to see Gwyn having a nightmare so violent. He _knew._ And if he hadn’t just had that dream, if Augus hadn’t just worked him over then maybe, _maybe_ he’d have a shred of strength left to push Augus off him and teleport into a forest where he could catch his breath and sit against a stout oak and just...come back to himself.

He was so tired. Hiding Augus from others, hiding things from Augus, on top of hiding everything else. Subterfuge had never been his strong point.

‘It’s high drama with you, this evening,’ Augus said, curling his fingers around the back of Gwyn’s neck. Gwyn whimpered at the touch, felt uncommonly needy, he wanted to curl up into the feel of Augus’ hands and disappear. ‘You throw tantrums against using your power even in your _sleep,_ did you know that?’

‘Yes,’ Gwyn said hoarsely, abruptly aware of how hard he was shaking, embarrassed that Augus was seeing him like this. He hadn’t intended to sleep. He hadn’t intended to share a bed with Augus.

He was doing everything wrong. Someone would find out. He would slip, and everything good in his life would disappear.

Augus wasn’t moving. And Gwyn felt a distressed hunger in him for more. Augus lay on top of him, and yet Gwyn wished he could somehow be closer. It wasn’t even possible. And Gwyn knew he should push Augus away, knew that he should do the right thing and deal with this on his own.

He was terrible at doing the right thing.

Augus crooned a soothing sound at him, and Gwyn bristled at it, even as some small part of him yearned and reached out, wrapped invisible hands around the sound of it. Because no, _no,_ he wasn’t some child to be offered solace. He wasn’t six anymore. He was grown and King and he knew _better._

He reached up to push Augus off him, but when he put pressure on Augus’ shoulder with his hands, pain flared down both of his wrists. He cried out, yanked them back even as Augus hushed him. He stared at raw, torn flesh. It hadn’t healed yet. It was starting to, he could tell that much, but they were wounded.

‘Alright,’ Augus said quietly. ‘Do you remember last night?’

Gwyn nodded mutely. He remembered some of it. He remembered sensation and pain and frustration and despair. He remembered a pleasure at the end so intense he almost couldn’t stand it. He remembered Augus using a soft voice against him, using that soft voice to be cruel, and then using it to be kind. He hadn’t realised he’d injured his wrists so badly.

‘They’re healing,’ Augus said. ‘But don’t overuse them. Do you want me to get off you?’

Gwyn froze at the question, his heart beat harder. Did he?

His lips pressed together. He couldn’t say yes. He couldn’t say no. A wave of trembling moved through him.

‘You are so _scared._ ’ Augus said. ‘How much respect do you think your people would have for you, if they knew you could be like this?’

Gwyn stiffened. He opened his mouth to respond but no words came. He feared anyone seeing him like this. Sleep was normally something he only did because he couldn’t help it. He held back from it as long as possible, and when it finally tangled him up in its clutches, he made sure he was somewhere no one could find him.

Augus’ gaze was measuring, and then after a minute, he pushed himself up and away. Gwyn’s body responded before his mind could catch up. He followed the movement uncertainly, his hand came up and touched Augus’ side with the lightest pressure. And this, he knew this was also the dream. How many times had he woken up, desperate and needy and alone, and how many times had he forced it aside upon waking and thrown the mess of himself into hunting or meetings or battle?  

Augus stilled, furrowed his brow at Gwyn. And then he shifted back slowly, lowering himself down until he was resting his head on his forearms, on Gwyn’s chest.

‘Tell me about it, the dream. You were _terrified_ , Gwyn.’

Gwyn’s lips thinned, he looked to the side, catches of conversation from hours before finding their way back to him.

‘Are you going to lecture me again? About how no one should fear their powers? About embracing it?’

‘Tell me, and then I’ll decide.’

Augus reached out with his hands and sunk fingers into Gwyn’s hair. Gwyn’s breath caught in his throat, he shivered. And when the fingers massaged lightly, his eyes closed, because his body couldn’t tell the difference between care and the facsimile of care. It sent warmth through him, skated down his spine.

‘Tell me about the dream, Gwyn,’ Augus insisted, and Gwyn cleared his throat, shook his head. ‘At least tell me if it was based on something that actually happened.’

‘Yes, it was,’ Gwyn said distantly. He was distracted. He could feel Augus’ heart beating, the slow and alien tattoo of a waterhorse. By contrast, he could feel his own heart racing, still adjusting to reality. It was pounding so hard he felt sick from it, he had to swallow constantly around the nausea that expanded in his throat.

‘So you let it loose once, and it was terribly bad, the end?’ Augus said, and Gwyn opened his mouth to laugh and was distracted by Augus tucking his head down next to Gwyn’s. He suspected that Augus had figured out exactly how much power he had when he offered nothing more than comfort. That small voice inside of him said things like: _You’re stronger than this,_ and _Just get up, leave._ But Augus had caught him at a time when he had nothing left, and he was giving something that Gwyn was unfamiliar with, craved more of.

He felt more paralysed than he had that time Augus had tied him down and gagged him and forced that metal _thing_...

Gwyn made a short, distraught sound in the back of his throat, his breathing escalated into something he couldn’t control properly. Augus clucked impatiently with his tongue, breathed a slow dampness next to him, his hair was making the side of Gwyn’s face moist.

‘Alright,’ Augus said quietly. ‘Focus on my breathing, and copy that. Be easy now. Talk to me.’

But Gwyn couldn’t do everything at once. He couldn’t find words at all. He focused instead on Augus’ breathing. And as he tried to copy it, he realised that Augus had sped his breathing up so that it was closer to Gwyn’s normal pace. It took time, but he matched it, each exhale shaky. Augus said nothing, and Gwyn turned his mind to Augus’ other request, wondering how he would go about talking about it, feeling a vague unease about the whole situation.

‘It was terribly bad, as you put it. But I didn’t ‘let loose.’ No, it...it wasn’t the full extent of my power,’ Gwyn said, and Augus stared at him.

‘Gwyn,’ he said, carefully, ‘have you _ever_ let your power loose? You’re not telling me that you haven’t. Please. Every fae has at some point.’

Gwyn didn’t reply. He knew for a fact that Augus was wrong. And Augus didn’t like to be told when he got things wrong. He decided to stay silent.

Augus smoothed his palm over Gwyn’s forehead, an idle, gentle touch. He buried his fingers back in Gwyn’s hair, pressed fingertips to his scalp, and Gwyn licked his lips, wished he could preserve the sensation of it. That he could bottle it up and take it with him anywhere, so that he would remember it once it was gone for good.

‘I used to do this with Ash,’ Augus said quietly, almost to himself. He combed the fingers of both hands through Gwyn’s hair, curling his fingertips down behind Gwyn’s ears, keeping each stroke slow and firm and soothing. ‘When we were little, he would have bad dreams sometimes, like any child, I suppose. But they were terrible dreams, and he would thrash and cry out and even scream. Nothing would wake him. He wouldn’t wake up unless I lay on top of him. He slept like the dead, actually. Even laying on top of him, it still took him a while to waken.’

Gwyn flushed warm at the comparison, glad that Augus wasn’t looking at his face. One of his arms came up hesitantly, and he lowered it over Augus’ back with nothing like nonchalance, only remembering to be careful of his wrist when he pressed down too hard unthinkingly and winced at the flare of sullen pain. Augus would have been able to tell how awkward he felt, how uncertain he was. He half-expected Augus to get up and mock him, and then leave. Expected...a lot of things.

Didn’t expect Augus to hum in the back of his throat in approval and press his face closer.

‘Tell me about the dream,’ Augus said, voice tucked away close to his ear, hypnotic and warm.

He should have made Augus blood-oath not to share it with anyone, he should have, but it would have involved Augus getting up, leaving, removing that contact. Gwyn couldn’t bear it. He would go back to feeling stoic tomorrow, or the next day. Perhaps he’d go hunting for whatever remnants of his Kingship were still remaining. People looked at him like he knew how to run a kingdom and once it only made him uneasy, now it actually made him sick inside. His family had asked him to stay out of trouble, to not demand undue attention, and he...had been the worst kind of rebellious teenager, and he hadn’t even known he was doing it. He’d ended up becoming the most visible fae in the Seelie Kingdom.

_King._

‘I was six,’ Gwyn said, swallowing. ‘My mother and father spent a lot of their time telling me not to use my power. And I-’

‘Excuse me?’ Augus said, lifting his head slightly, just enough to press his lips to the side of Gwyn’s face. It wasn’t an affectionate gesture, but an absent one. ‘Why would Lludd say something like that? These are old hands at immense power, they were...why would they say that? What parents tell their child to repress their power at that age?’

‘I was six,’ Gwyn continued, not knowing how to answer the questions without giving everything away and not wanting to, not wanting to give everything away. He could talk about the dream and Augus wouldn’t figure anything out. Augus hadn’t figured him out. He hadn’t when he’d stripped Gwyn down the first time, and he hadn’t since. ‘I was six and I was angry and it was reckless. I just...it just came out. Not all of it, but enough. And it couldn’t have lasted more than about thirty seconds, I think, but I dream about how hard it was to force it back again. And how...and the aftermath.’

‘The aftermath of light?’ Augus said, confused.

‘My family had to move. They came up with some excuse about a magical curse or plague so that they could move location and start again.’

Augus’ hands paused in Gwyn’s hair. He took a very careful breath.

‘Your family _moved._ What did you do to their palace, Gwyn? Knock down a wall? Start early renovations?’

Gwyn shook his head, and then shook it again. He couldn’t talk about this. He wasn’t supposed to. He certainly wasn’t supposed to with Augus. He _did_ know better. He could find affection later, he could certainly do _without._

He pushed himself up into a sitting position, his wrists screamed at him and he gritted his teeth against the pain. It would only help him focus on what he had to do. But Augus followed the movement, clinging with such intent that Gwyn was certain Augus would stay attached even if he stood up.

‘I’m your captive, and some kind of bed-slave,’ Augus said idly, slinging his arms around Gwyn’s shoulders and stroking the curve of Gwyn’s shoulder blades like it was something he did all the time, ‘or something. Why don’t you just lie down again, and we can both pretend that I’m servicing you like any good bed-slave? Better yet, we could just call this extended aftercare. Which...it is, actually. I didn’t want to leave you, I had a bad feeling about...I was not surprised that you had the nightmare.’

‘Wonderful,’ Gwyn said, grimly.

But the hands on his back were convincing, the head laying against his collarbone was convincing. His wrists ached where he’d stretched them to brace himself on his hands. His arms all the way up to his shoulders felt sore still.

‘Lie down,’ Augus soothed. ‘This is where you’re not actually very like Ash at all. He soaked attention up like a sponge. He still does. You, on the other hand, a completely different story. I used to be good at this, once upon a time. How about giving me the chance to see if I still could be?’

Gwyn didn’t want to tell him that he already was. Those hands were clever. Even when they weren’t twisting someone up into sexual knots, they were still attuned and focused. The placement of every finger was precise, seemed determined to find the places that Gwyn most responded to. And even when Gwyn was sure he hadn’t reacted, Augus knew to return to the places that Gwyn liked the most. The curve of his skull behind his ears, the dip in the muscle beneath his shoulder blades.

‘Lie down,’ Augus said again, and Gwyn lay down in a series of stilted movements. The small voice in his head, the one that protested, that told him to _stop,_ that screamed that he would regret this, became smaller.

‘You were six,’ Augus said. ‘Your parents had been telling you to suppress your power, and you were six, so you didn’t understand why. And then you were angry, and what you did was so bad that your parents moved palaces. Aside from the fact that I can’t really believe I just said the words ‘moved palaces,’ I suppose I can imagine the kind of destruction that would make that necessary. Your family is uppity. They would want to put on the best show possible. Couldn’t grow back their perfect green lawn and plants in time for their next lot of esteemed guests, could they?’

Gwyn didn’t want this. He didn’t want whatever fake sympathy Augus was offering him. It ached right in the place where he wanted the real thing. Once, he remembered, he had walked down to a cell only intent on punishing a prisoner. Now...

‘They couldn’t grow their perfect green lawn and plants back in time, because the land is dead,’ Gwyn said, squeezing his eyes shut, tensing. ‘Because it has shown no sign of...recovering, in the thousands of years since. Because, on several square kilometres of family land, there is a black, empty wasteland, where nothing lives, or moves, or has ever returned.’

He visited it on very, _very_ rare occasions. Usually only when he was feeling particularly disgusted with himself, and wanted to remind himself of why he couldn’t afford to be open with people; why he had to hide his light, his power. He visited it the week before learning to make the golden light to remind himself that his light, and Pitch’s light, were two very different things. The wasteland filled him with a dull horror. It had a scent to it, an odour that he could no longer categorise as anything other than panic and char and death.

He had barely let his power go, the light hadn’t burned for as long as he’d wanted it to, for as long as _it_ had wanted to.

After he’d gotten his power under control again, his father had sprinted at him, knocked him down and shaken him so hard that his mind had split into an intense, relentless headache. And he’d been so shocked by what he’d done, by his father’s response, that he’d started to cry even though he knew very well that he shouldn’t. His father had hit him until he’d stopped, had taken him back into what remained of the estate.

They’d sat down side by side on a bed, Gwyn unable to stop shaking, and his father terribly still and quiet until: ‘There’s something you should know, Gwyn.’

Gwyn shivered, swallowed around the cold nausea in the back of his throat. Everyone knew he was light fae. Everyone sensed the light, because it was so strong that even fully quelled and repressed, it still shimmered and glittered abrasively beneath his skin. Jack Frost had been unusually sensitive to it – at least at first – as though he knew that something jarring and caustic lurked beneath. And so it did. So many of the fae saw what they wanted to see. They saw a family of Seelie fae, a being who was born with light as his core of power. They didn’t ask questions. They just...

But why vote him into _Kingship?_

There were cosmic jokes, and then there were cosmic jokes.

Augus smoothed his fingers over Gwyn’s brow, and with his other hand, carded individual curls of hair.

‘I thought you told me that the light was neutral?’ Augus said, as though puzzling something out. ‘That’s what you’ve told everyone. That doesn’t sound like neutral light. No, let me rephrase that. That sounds positively Unseelie, Gwyn.’

It was said in a joking, charmed tone. It wasn’t serious. Augus didn’t know what he was saying. But Gwyn hadn’t expected it. He hadn’t been able to brace himself. People didn’t _joke_ about things like that, they didn’t, not with his family, not with his family members. Everyone knew that even destructive, malicious creatures like Efnisien – with his centre of cruelty and his ability to mete out consecutives hours of malicious, destructive torture both on individuals, and en masse – even Efnisien was _Seelie._

Gwyn desperately hoped that Augus would take his hitched breath, the tensing of his body, as offense at the very suggestion.

His heart was beating so fast he could see the results of it pulsing behind his eyes.

‘Honestly,’ Gwyn said, smoothing his voice, because he’d had years of practice at this. Turning on the dra’ocht, because he’d had years of training in _that,_ and-

Augus pushed himself up, a stunned look on his face. It didn’t suit him.

‘Please, you know our family throws rather intense powers. Look at Efnisien,’ Gwyn said dismissively, pretending at a scowl, praying, _hoping_ that he was convincing. It was hard to be convincing, tired and sick and just wanting to curl up and not knowing exactly how to ask Augus to stay without inviting much-deserved derision.

‘Efnisien’s centre is cruelty, but his powers are mundane,’ Augus said, breathless. ‘And your father’s centre was ruthlessness, but his _powers_ were...’

‘My family throws Seelie, everyone knows that,’ Gwyn said. ‘You have an over-active imagination.’

‘And you,’ Augus’ eyes widened impossibly and he blanched, all the colour draining from his face. Gwyn’s heart rate shot up into a panicked tattoo. ‘ _You_ have one of the only families – in the world – who could pull the wool over... I can’t believe what I’m saying.’

Augus hiccoughed on a laugh and looked a horror at Gwyn that had him scramble upwards again, terrified.

Augus _couldn’t_ find this out. It was impossible, he could _not_.

There was only one person left alive in the world who _knew_ –aside from himself – and he was under strict orders to terminate anyone else who ever found out and he had already broken so many rules, even his existence had broken one of the family decrees and he had already proven to himself, to the fae, that he couldn’t kill Augus, not for his extreme crimes, let alone for stumbling upon something that-

Augus grabbed him by the hair and twisted his hand hard, dragged him back down again, his eyes wide and his breath coming faster and faster.

‘But you’re the King,’ Augus said on the ghost of a breath. ‘You’re the...’

‘Don’t say it,’ Gwyn begged, hiccoughing on the fear of it. ‘Don’t, please don’t say it. You don’t know what I’m supposed to do to you, if you say it. Just don’t, please, _please._ Augus, please, I promise, I promise I’ll-’

‘This explains _everything,’_ Augus’ mouth was open, his hand wasn’t leaving Gwyn’s hair, wrapped up tight and Gwyn thought, _At least he doesn’t look disgusted._ But he was having a hard time holding back hysterical laughter, and more begging, and he couldn’t tell if he lost control of his life months ago, or years ago, or the moment he was six, and his father had sat him down and said, ‘There’s something you should know, Gwyn.’

‘Don’t say it,’ Gwyn whispered, and Augus stared at him as though seeing him for the first time.

‘I have to,’ Augus said. ‘I rather find that I have to. Otherwise-’

‘I will do _anything.’_

‘How has no one ever figured it out? You can’t tell me that in the past...three _thousand_ years, you cannot tell me that no one’s figured it out. I can’t be the first. There must have been others that you’ve talked to, information you’ve let slip without realising, people who have connected the dots.’

Augus’ voice shook.

‘One,’ Gwyn said, and his heart turned over in his chest, a wrench of pain that made him give up a strangled noise that he was saying anything at all. He hardly knew where the words were coming from. He didn’t know how to _stop_ talking. ‘One. I was younger. I was...I was very young. A teenager. I didn’t understand how serious my father was. I didn’t...I made a _mistake.’_

Augus made a sound of disgust and Gwyn flinched, because there it was, he expected that. But almost immediately Augus was crooning soothing sounds and he wouldn’t stop stroking Gwyn’s hair and Gwyn thought it would help, that it would help to have that, but _nothing_ was helping.

‘Not you,’ Augus said. ‘I’m not angry at you. I am just imagining you as a teenager. A dumb, idiot teenager. Not the brightest, not even the best. All these other fae with their embraced powers, learning how to use them. And you with these secrets and I can just _imagine_ you befriending someone like a moronic, romping puppy. And I’ve met Lludd, your father. We’ve met. I know how he used to think. I know his centre.’

Augus closed his eyes, pained.

‘Ah, and what he probably did to your friend, when he found out about this ‘mistake’ that you made...’

Gwyn was shaking violently, now.

Augus tugged at Gwyn’s hair in realisation, he made a dismayed sound. And then he was shifting down Gwyn’s body, just enough that he could force his arms underneath Gwyn’s arms, snake them beneath his back. He squeezed Gwyn to his chest, and Gwyn realised that he was being _held._ He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. He wasn’t sure it had ever happened, not like this. He stared up at the ceiling, mouth open.

‘Lludd didn’t do anything to your friend, did he?’ Augus said, and Gwyn’s eyes burnt wet, he shook his head in denial, in agreement. ‘He likely made some very convincing speeches about how you’d betrayed the family, and _remember_ when you were six, and do we _need_ to visit the wasteland _again_ and you have to understand, Gwyn, will you never _learn,_ there are _consequences_ to your actions, and you-’

‘You _have_ met him,’ Gwyn laughed brokenly, and then made a very undignified noise when Augus’ arms jerked hard around him.

‘What was your centre back then? It wasn’t triumph. It _couldn’t_ have been. There was very little possibility that Lludd could have coerced you into murdering your friend as a punishment, if it was _triumph,’_ Augus spat. ‘Did that come later? Of course it did.’

Gwyn’s heart was twisting so hard he thought he might be dying. Once, he’d been stabbed in the chest when he’d had no armour on, and this felt almost exactly the same. _Mafydd._

Gwyn was starting to feel numb. It didn’t matter that Augus hadn’t actually said the word out loud; Augus knew, he understood, he had uncovered the family secret. And Augus could never be trusted, would never be trustworthy. He would leak it when Gwyn least expected it, use it to manipulate Gwyn into getting what he wanted, it would be the thing that would break him. And he wanted to laugh, because it broke him such a long time ago, this secret. He just wanted to know when it would _stop_ breaking him.

Augus chuckled softly against his chest, he was holding Gwyn so tightly that Gwyn was finding it easy to imagine that Augus wasn’t smaller, wasn’t slighter.

‘I’ve just noticed the cosmic irony of you being voted in as King of the _Seelie_ fae, by _Seelie_ fae.’

‘I shouldn’t have told you,’ Gwyn whispered, and Augus’ chuckle died off immediately. ‘I shouldn’t have-’

‘Quiet,’ Augus said, a sternness in his voice, even though it was soft. ‘You didn’t _tell_ me. We haven’t actually _said_ it out loud. Either of us. I can make a rather elaborate blood oath to the effect that I will never say anything about this, to anyone but you. I’m...rather aware of how quickly I would be slaughtered if I were not under your purview. It doesn’t do me any favours to see you knocked off your throne and pushed out into exile.’

Gwyn didn’t say anything. He told himself that he didn’t curl into Augus’ body, and that he didn’t tuck his head into the space between Augus’ neck and shoulder, because he didn’t do things like that. And he certainly wouldn’t do them now, with Augus, when everything was falling apart.

‘I’ve been getting things wrong for a long time, with you. And I didn’t understand why,’ Augus said, grabbing one of the smaller blankets on Gwyn’s bed and throwing it over them both. ‘Things that I thought would push you over the edge, didn’t. Things that by all rights should have been tame by comparison, set off...chain reactions I couldn’t predict. And now, I think, I’m finally starting to see why. You’re a liar, and a good one. You spend all of your energy on making sure others never realise, and you use the dra’ocht deliberately to make sure fae are won over. You even used it with _me,_ and I thought – laughably – that it was part of your natural Seelie charm. Your family legacy covered the rest, for they have always thrown Seelie fae, and they have always been cruel. For all that you cannot admit this to yourself, you are surprisingly good at being one of us. You could have been the King that our side deserved.’

Gwyn couldn’t pretend to himself that he wasn’t starting to sob, couldn’t push that away far enough, and Augus wasn’t letting him anyway. Augus who was suddenly full of reassurance and soothing noises and hands that responded to every new wave of distress with something approximating care. Augus who had moved one of his hands up to Gwyn’s face and was stroking it with an agonising gentleness, smearing away Gwyn’s tears, not giving him a chance to escape the reality of them.

‘That was a compliment,’ Augus said, and Gwyn huffed a breath of wet laughter.

‘I assure you it _wasn’t.’_

‘You would have made a better King than me,’ Augus said. Gwyn knew just how generous Augus was being, but he still laughed.

‘I _do_ make a better King than you.’

‘And you’re on the wrong side and everything,’ Augus said, sounding impressed in spite of himself. ‘Imagine how good you’d be, if you actually-’

‘ _Don’t,’_ Gwyn warned, and Augus nodded, took a deep breath and sighed it out.

‘You didn’t want me to cleanse you of your madness, all that time ago,’ Augus said, gently. ‘Did you?’

‘By the gods, Augus, _be quiet.’_

‘Even I couldn’t make you into something you weren’t. I might be good, but I’m not _that_ good.’

‘Augus...’ Gwyn said, exasperated, and then subsided when thumbs smoothed his tears away, when fingers traced the delicate shells of his ears.

Augus hushed him, pressed his lips to the underside of Gwyn’s jaw. And Gwyn half-expected Augus to take control, to make him forget, but Augus did nothing of the sort. He kept his lips closed, breath passing in and out of his nostrils. When he withdrew, he pressed a second kiss to Gwyn’s lips. He kissed him the way Gwyn kissed, and it was startling. They wouldn’t close their eyes, Augus watched him warily, and Gwyn stared back, no idea what expression was on his face.

‘I’ve been bored. I find captivity rather tedious, if I’m completely honest,’ Augus said smoothly. ‘So I suppose you’ll be my project. If you’re stuck here, trapped, as much as I am, we can at least make sure that you learn how to embrace who you are. Every other Unseelie fae has had to do it, with far less fuss. Oh, hush. I said it. _Calm down.’_

Gwyn’s breathing had turned to panic again.

‘It will...it will turn me inside out one day. The light. It will pour itself out, destroy everything.’

‘Melodrama,’ Augus said, but he didn’t sound sure.

‘Perhaps,’ Gwyn said. ‘But that is what it wants. The light. And I’m so tired, Augus. I’m only young, and I’m already so tired.’

‘ _Melodrama,’_ Augus said, sounding more convinced. ‘And that’s because you’ve never learned to master it, you idiot.’

Augus pressed his cheek against Gwyn’s and left it there, offering a constant, unwavering presence. Gwyn had never imagined being able to tell someone the truth, not since Mafydd had he even dared to let himself imagine it as anything more than a death sentence.

He’d never thought that someone – _Augus –_ would find out like this, and that they would talk about it together, half-hidden under a blanket. ‘You’re not the first fae to have a power that would go haywire if unchecked. The Nain Rouge comes _immediately_ to mind. She would have turned the world inside out, given enough time. She still might. You might be in a race with a few other fae, to see who will destroy the world first. But she still uses her power.’

‘I still use my light,’ Gwyn said, ‘when I have to.’

‘You don’t know how,’ Augus muttered. ‘You open the door a crack and then slam it shut. You don’t understand what you’re doing. Your father never let you, and then you never let yourself. So that just sounds like an extreme version of standard family issues to me, I can work with that.’

‘I don’t want you to _work with it,’_ Gwyn muttered, and Augus traced the shape of Gwyn’s face with the back of his fingers, laughed under his breath.

‘Whatever you say.’

Gwyn clenched his jaw, and then sighed when Augus rubbed his upper arms. He was exhausted, still. He’d been resisting sleep for weeks, and now...

‘Life used to be simpler, when I did this for Ash,’ Augus said softly. ‘But your life was never simple, was it? Here you are, looking like the quintessential Seelie King, with your pale armour and coming from the right family and of course being able to claim that you have this powerful, neutral light as your core... and it was all a lie. You never get to forget about it, do you?’

‘Sometimes,’ Gwyn said, closing his eyes obediently when Augus smoothed fingers gently over his eyelids. Augus moved fingers over Gwyn’s brow after that, massaging the band of tension that wrapped around his head. ‘In the battlefield, using my sword. And...you. Sometimes.’

A pause then, where Augus didn’t say anything at all. And then Augus took a deep breath.

‘No wonder you drop so fast,’ Augus said, pressing his lips against Gwyn’s gently. ‘Your mind just wants to let it go. Like I said, this explains _everything.’_

Gwyn didn’t have a reply to that, because Augus was – of course – right. And Augus didn’t say anything else, which was surprising, because he certainly had a lot to poke fun at if he really wanted to. Gwyn supposed that would come later.

Tiredness washed over him, lapped waves at the corner of his mind. Augus showed no signs of wanting to move, and his hands moved in slow, drugging motions, demanding that Gwyn relax further and further. He was so dazed, and only at the beginning of his sleep cycle. His body was incessant with its demand for more rest.

He yawned, turned his head to the side to get more comfortable, and pressed Augus closer to himself with his elbows, keeping weight off his wrists. Augus responded by resting his head alongside Gwyn’s and humming in the back of his throat. He sounded oddly comfortable. He didn’t sound like he was performing some terrible chore at all. And Gwyn could almost, for a moment, imagine a world where Augus actually wanted him to be okay, wanted him to be a better version of himself. That was all Gwyn wanted, really, to be a better version of himself.

Whatever the Seelie version of himself would look like.

‘Stop thinking,’ Augus said tiredly. ‘You can panic just as well tomorrow.’

‘Will you do this again?’ Gwyn said, tiredness mussing his words and turning them sleep soft. He had hardly any idea what he was saying. ‘I like this part.’

He didn’t stay awake long enough to hear an answer. Warm and with no more energy left for panic, he drifted deep into a dark, dreamless world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, 'Oath:'
> 
> ‘You may _not,_ under _any_ circumstances, kill me with a _letter opener,_ you uncouth creature,’ Augus spat.


	24. Oath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No new tags. 
> 
> *
> 
> Wow to the responses to the last chapter; just wow! You guys are awesome. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think that chapter would get that response, and I was seriously just so excited. Now to offer everyone a quieter chapter, and something that even approximates fluff (eventually), before we duck into the Gwyn arc of _Game Theory_ , winding us up slowly towards Act 4, when - of course - everything turns to shit, lol.
> 
> Thank you EVERYONE for your continued feedback, comments, the kudoses, the bookmarks, the folks who are reading once or re-reading or sending me Tumblr messages or lurk-reading...however it's happening; thank you. <3

There were bad dreams, and then there were bad dreams.

At some point during the night, his mind had taken his recurring nightmare of the time he’d not been able to control his light, and introduced Augus into it. His unconscious decided to let Augus find out things that no one could ever, _ever_ discover. Worse, it taunted him, showed him a world where Augus reacted without judgement, it showed him something impossible.

Gwyn surfaced from sleep with the lost, shaken sense that nothing was okay. But it _was,_ he’d woken up from dreams like this before, and it was always okay eventually. He knew that he would get up, he would shake it off, he would go about his business. So the nightmare had gotten a little more complicated. That wasn’t entirely unexpected.

Given how complicated his life had become.

As he roused, he shivered. That was normal too. He didn’t sleep often. He always put it off for too long to the nightmares, there were so many now. There were too many things to remember. If it wasn’t the time he’d let go of his light, it was the time with _Mafydd,_ and if it wasn’t that, it was the first time Efnisien had pinned him in a field under the guise of ‘play,’ hiding his torture in the tall grasses that sang when the wind soughed through them; far too musically for what Efnisien was doing to him.

He’d been sleep-deprived almost all his life. From the age of six. He couldn’t remember a time when he felt well-rested, when he thought he’d had enough sleep. His species of fae, common fae, were supposed to sleep once every two weeks at the outside, and it wasn’t uncommon for some to sleep every night or second night, mimicking sleep patterns similar to humans.

Gwyn had been exploiting his higher statuses for as long as he could remember. When he was Court status, he pushed his sleep deprivation to the extremes, sleeping once a month or less. But when he was nominated to Kingship, he found himself putting it off, longer and longer, until he felt unstable and frightened of how badly he needed it, how badly he didn’t want it.

Delays just seemed to make the dreams all the more potent. He swore he would sleep more often, maybe it would help. He could be strong in so many things, but experiencing the light again made him physically ill. He couldn’t help but delay the dreams.

He trembled, felt unsteady, wrapped an arm around himself. But instead of resting his hand over his ribs, he accidentally crashed into another forearm already wrapped around him.  

His eyes widened, he woke fully.

He tilted his head, turned slowly. The arm hardly shifted, staying limp and heavy over him, a warm weight. His heart skipped a beat.

Augus was asleep. Not dozing, but _asleep._ There was a damp patch under his hair where it rested on the pillow. His breathing was deep and slow, and he looked...peaceful. Gwyn watched him, stared at his face, eyes tracing the faded freckles on his cheeks. The sun would bring them out more, but Augus had seen precious little true sunlight for months. His lashes were thick and long, and there was no upward or downward quirk to his lips, no smirk or frown. Augus’ lips had a natural pout to them that made him look young.

Gwyn’s body ached with a residual soreness. His wrists were healing, the shallow wounds were starting to knit over, but the deepest ones were still healing, pulled every time he stretched or shifted his hands. It was a dull pain though. He still couldn’t remember some of the evening, only that Augus had put a great deal of effort into trying to convince Gwyn that using his light was a good idea and failing.

No wonder his dream had changed. There was a perfectly logical explanation. The wave of relief that Gwyn felt was so strong, he made a sound of relief. The day was already looking up. He shifted again, and Augus made a small sound. Gwyn turned back to him.

Augus looked like he was thinking as he slept. There was a slight furrow in his brow, even though his face was relaxed. He looked faintly displeased. Gwyn reached out with a shaking hand, then stopped before he made any contact.

Then he decided it didn’t matter, because Augus was asleep, because the dream was over, and he’d gotten the sleep he needed. He wouldn’t need to sleep again for a while now, a long time.

He reached out with his index and middle finger and brushed fingertips over the line in Augus’ brow, trying to smooth it out.

Instead, Augus’ brow furrowed further, and then he made a disgruntled sound. He blinked sleepily awake as Gwyn withdrew his fingers. The arm that Augus had around Gwyn’s side tightened, fingers that had been lax turned into pressure digging in and scraping at his skin sensually. He didn’t look unhappy to see Gwyn there, which Gwyn found disconcerting.

He realised belatedly that this was the first time he’d spent the night with someone like this, in a bed. The first time he’d woken up to someone else beside him. Augus watched him quietly, caressed him with the side of his hand.

‘Greetings,’ Augus said with a smirk. ‘Unseelie King of the Seelie fae.’

Everything crashed to a shimmering, awful halt in Gwyn’s mind.

_No._

The flaring pulse of panic inside of him erased Augus’ thread of sleepy laughter, turned his world to white noise and a roaring vacuum. The dream, the dream had been _real._ It had been real, and Augus...he knew _everything._

Gwyn scrambled off the bed, choking on the sudden waves of adrenaline that pounded through his flesh. His eyes blindly surveyed the room. He grasped the first sharp object that was in reach. He heard noises, vaguely. Hyperventilating. Laughter that died away into the sound of his name, called out, over and over again. The sound of his side smashing into a chair and knocking it over.

He needed to react, there were things he was supposed to do if this ever happened, contingency plans. It was important. He _had_ to. He was strong enough to see this out. Literally, physically, he _had_ to be.

He lunged back towards Augus clumsily, because he _had_ to. He’d learnt that, hadn’t he? Back when his centre had been loyalty, and he would have done anything not to disappoint those who had his faith. There was no other option. All the thoughts in his mind, whirling, narrowed down into one bleak pathway and he changed his grip on the small weapon he’d grabbed, determined. This was the way it was. This was why he had to keep it secret. There were _consequences._ It didn’t matter how much it would hurt him to do it. That was the _point._ His father had known. Pain was an excellent educator. It had allowed him to keep his secret since. thousands of years, and he’d done the right thing.

He couldn’t see anything properly.

Spikes of pain hammered into the fleshy space between thumb and forefinger. Then his still tender wrists, and he cried out. The weapon fell out of it immediately. The pain continued, finishing at the base of his neck, freezing him in place. His mind wouldn’t work. He blinked vaguely, hissing as Augus dug his fingers in harder.

‘You may _not,_ under _any_ circumstances, kill me with a _letter opener,_ you uncouth creature,’ Augus spat.

Gwyn couldn’t deal with this. He didn’t have to deal with this. He could gather his thoughts. He could get a better weapon. He had a bow and arrows. He had three bows. He had armouries. He closed his mind and started to teleport, then grunted when Augus backhanded him across the face with enough force that a starburst of white exploded behind his eyes.

‘ _No,_ not _that_ either,’ Augus said, grabbing his hair and pulling it hard, forcing him to concentrate through his gasping. He didn’t want to concentrate. Far better that he just lose track of everything until Augus was bleeding out and it was too late to fix it. Then he could feel guilty, and terrible, and use it as a corrective device to remind himself: _This is why it has to be a secret._

‘I have to,’ Gwyn managed, ‘I have to-’

The letter opener that had been snatched away from him suddenly dug underneath his skin, beneath his collarbone, touched a bundle of nerves that made his whole body tense with an electric pain. He gasped hoarsely as it rippled through him. His muscles seized. He stared at Augus. He expected Augus to look triumphant – to look smug, self-satisfied, but his lips were thin, tight. His eyes were narrowed. He looked worried.

Seconds passed, Gwyn shaking and making the pain worse for himself as he moved unconsciously against the letter opener. Augus watched him, breathing quickly.

As though Gwyn had communicated something to him, Augus nodded.

‘I said I would do this last night,’ Augus said, taking the letter opener out of the wound he’d made, blood immediately trickling from it. He didn’t even bother wiping the blood off the letter opener as he turned it and made a large notch on the inside of his index finger.

He made his blood-oaths in a different place to Gwyn, who always took the blood from the outside of his little finger. Augus tossed the letter opener onto the bed, huffing impatiently. Gwyn watched as the blood welled; thick, dark red with a sheen of green that swirled like oil as it caught the light.

It wouldn’t be enough.

‘But I still have to,’ Gwyn whispered.

‘Oh, will you _shut up,’_ Augus said, muscle clenching in his jaw. ‘I, Augus Each Uisge, oath in blood to never tell another living or dead creature of any sentience that you are Unseelie fae, unless you give me exact, explicit permission, not wrung out of you due to torture, manipulation or compulsion. I will only ever speak of it to you, and only while we are alone until such time – and _only_ until such time – that it becomes public knowledge without my interference. I will not,’ Augus paused, took a deep breath, winced, ‘use it to leverage myself from captivity, or as any other form of leverage.’

Augus stared at the single droplet that had trickled down the side of his hand. It had pooled in the dip of his fingers.

‘What am I missing, Gwyn? I already feel this one, but let’s be thorough now, so you don’t decide to destroy me with stationery later.’

‘Not your brother,’ Gwyn said, feeling dazed. Augus clucked his tongue.

‘I do believe I’ve covered that already. Do keep up.’

Gwyn’s chest was heaving, there were spots in front of his eyes. His father would know. His father was _dead,_ but he would _know,_ and there would be a lecture followed by a terrible, terrible-

Augus’ other hand reached out and fisted in Gwyn’s hair once more, a tight, relentless pressure that drew Gwyn’s eyes back to Augus’.

‘We are in the middle of something,’ Augus hissed, ‘we don’t have time for you to do this now. So _concentrate_. What am I missing?’

‘I don’t _know,’_ Gwyn said, his voice rising higher in his panic. He couldn’t look away from the trickle of blood. He knew blood-oaths were serious. He _knew_ they were serious. They were treated as sacrosanct laws that could be made on an individual basis, and horrific consequences usually followed.

But he’d broken his and survived, hadn’t he?

He’d been so desperate to tell someone, and Mafydd had been a friend, more than a friend, and he’d shredded himself from the inside out, breaking his first blood-oath to tell him. His father had known, of course he’d known, the recipient of the blood-oath always _knew._ And his father had – _no –_ dragged him into the target practice room and Mafydd had – _no –_ and-

Gwyn squeezed his eyes shut. His father had told him that a fae who broke a blood-oath and survived could never, ever be trusted. Would _never_ be worthy of trust again. And that if Gwyn could break a blood-oath, why, then he could certainly kill another f-

_NO!_

Had Augus ever broken a blood-oath?

‘Blood-oaths can be broken,’ Gwyn rasped, looking away, resisting the hand tight in his hair. ‘They can be broken. It doesn’t mean anything. You can’t promise me _anything,_ there is-’

Augus let go of his hair. His mouth twisted, downturned with something like disgust.

'I have _never_ broken a blood-oath. Ever. The very notion that you would suggest that is revolting. I may be ambitious, I may manipulate and torment, but I can uphold the oldest laws of the fae, thank you very much.’

‘But you _could,_ you’d survive it, you would wish you hadn’t, but-’

Augus licked the trail of blood off his finger absently, and then stilled. A few more seconds, and he inhaled sharply. Gwyn could feel the hard stare on the side of his face. He looked back and cringed at what he saw there.

‘No, tell me you _haven’t,’_ Augus said, and the disgust didn’t leave his expression. ‘You haven’t.’

Gwyn didn’t reply, he thought he might not be able to speak around the sensation of his heart pounding in his throat.

Augus shook his head in disbelief.

‘But of course, why would I be surprised? You broke the old Law that forbade a King from directly attacking another King, a Court directly attacking another Court. You broke the old Law that forbade a Seelie King from stripping an Unseelie King of his powers, _knowing_ that the only people who are supposed to work against their leader are those whom are on the same side. But perhaps I can forgive that one, given that you probably felt quite _confused_ about which side you were on.’

Gwyn was shocked into silence. His breath stilled in his lungs.

‘You really have, haven’t you?’ Augus said, swallowing uncomfortably. ‘You’ve broken a blood-oath. How can I trust anything you’ve ever oathed? How...’

Augus placed a hand on Gwyn’s face, ignoring how Gwyn flinched. It was the movement of his fingers on Gwyn’s cheek that let him know that at some point he had started to shed tears, _again,_ and he couldn’t do anything more than hope that Augus was better at keeping promises than he was. And he knew how stupid and futile that was. He understood that he could hardly expect from Augus what he couldn’t do himself.

‘ _Why?_ Why did you break it? What did you oath?’ Augus said, frowning.

The caustic pieces of the broken blood-oath swarmed inside of him like a nest of hornets. His throat closed, he squeezed his eyes shut. It was a pain that would never go away, written into his blood, a hairline crack in the very force that kept him alive.

‘I thought he’d understand,’ Gwyn said, closing his eyes, shutting out Augus, grunting at the pain.

‘Who?’ Augus pushed, leaning forward. He licked carefully at the wound he’d made under Gwyn’s collarbone. His tongue lapped slowly at the trickly of blood, removing it from his skin. Gwyn didn’t bother to ask what it tasted like, Augus had done things like this before. He couldn’t help himself. He oriented to the world through his olfactory senses first. He liked to taste. He liked to make other people taste.

Gwyn looked down at the top of Augus’ head, swallowed at the sensation of tongue on his skin and stared off through the wall of the room, into an invisible distance.

He didn’t want to talk about this.

‘M-Mafydd,’ Gwyn said, realising it didn’t matter anymore. ‘When I was six, my father made me blood-oath-’

Augus snapped upright and stared at him, eyes wide.

‘When you were _six?’_

Gwyn nodded, then shrugged. Augus only belatedly remembered to close his mouth.

‘You...that’s...’

Augus began to laugh. It was a breathless, incredulous sound.

Gwyn ignored him, kept speaking, because he thought if he didn’t do it now, he would never do it.

‘I blood-oathed to never tell anyone of my...alignment. I had fully intended to keep it. Honestly I had. I was very young. A teenager. I didn’t know what breaking a blood-oath would entail. And you know that fae aren’t supposed to blood-oath at all, at least until they’ve reached maturity after a century or two.’

‘I’ve nearly broken a blood-oath, I know what _almost_ breaking one feels like,’ Augus said, bending back to his skin and licking at traces of blood that remained. ‘It must have hurt.’

‘It did,’ Gwyn nodded, it hurt now. It had never stopped hurting. Gwyn was no stranger to chronic pain, the constant ache in his veins, the permanent damage caused by destroying something that was never supposed to be destroyed. ‘It did hurt. It just didn’t hurt as much as not telling...’

Augus’ tongue paused on his skin, breath rattled out of his lungs. He sat up suddenly and pulled on Gwyn’s hair until he was sitting.

‘Back,’ Augus ordered. ‘Sit back against the headboard.’

‘What?’ Gwyn said, confused.

‘Just do it.’

Augus shifted pillows until Gwyn could lean back against the headboard comfortably, making a sound of discontent when he found a capped bottle of ink and several hardback books beneath one of the pillows. He threw them all carelessly off the side of the bed, and Gwyn grimaced. Instead – obedient, confused – he leaned in a sitting position, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Augus crawled over him, straddled his hips and practically sat in his lap, pausing for a second to narrow his eyes at Gwyn. Then he looped one arm around the back of his shoulders, and pushed the other into Gwyn’s hair. Gwyn shivered, couldn’t stop once he’d started. He hadn’t expected...

He didn’t know what he’d expected.

Not _this._

Gwyn made a small sound when Augus pushed his forehead to his. It was... he was blindingly aware of how wrong it was, that Augus was reacting to him this way. The disgust, as hard as it had been to bear, was far more appropriate. He waited, sure that at any moment he would find out what Augus was really thinking. Perhaps this was the lead up to a scene. Augus could do gentle, often before he wanted to be especially cruel.

_That’s probably it,_ Gwyn told himself.

‘Your father’s dead, isn’t he?’ Augus said softly.

Gwyn nodded. Augus knew that, so he wondered why he was asking.

‘Shame, really.’

‘Pardon?’

‘I said, it’s a _shame,_ really. You heard me. Do you want me to keep going, though? It’s a _shame_ he’s not alive, because I would very much like to kill him properly. That whole family has been a stain on what it is to be Seelie, for tens of thousands of years, and _everyone_ has known it. Or is that just true for the Unseelie, observing the products of that family and wondering what cruelty might be done in the name of honour, and duty, happily sanctioned provided it comes from the An-Fnwy estate?

‘And your father...’ Augus made a sound of disgust. ‘He’s lower than _food_. And I wouldn’t like to soil myself on a creature like that by torturing him personally, but I would have been willing to make an exception. What he knows of family he couldn’t thread through the eye of a needle. He broke fae laws, making you blood-oath, forcing you to hide your alignment.’

Augus laughed again, but this time it wasn’t breathless, and held a note of scorn. Gwyn bristled to hear it.

‘What a _mess.’_

‘Leave it, Augus.’

‘All I wanted to do,’ Augus complained, ‘was laugh at you. And I suppose I still will. And you go and _ruin_ my fun by trying to kill me, and now this. If it wasn’t for the fact that you were practically made for the way I prefer to break people, and didn’t cry at the drop of the proverbial hat and...that little incidental notion of my imprisonment, I would be _done_ with you, Gwyn ap Nudd.’

Gwyn shook his head.

‘This isn’t fun,’ Gwyn said.

Augus chuckled.

‘Oh, but it is. I was defeated by an Unseelie fae. No wonder you took my betrayal of the Unseelie so _personally._ Did you ever consider that? No, I suppose you told yourself over and over again that you were doing what you must for your _people._ And you did. No wonder you constantly talked about the need to help _both_ Kingdoms, instead of just one. The powerful Unseelie fae stripped another Unseelie of his powers. That is exactly what you were supposed to- _Stop it.’_

Gwyn stopped trying to push Augus off him. The compulsion didn’t take root, but it shuddered through him, mixed and mingled with the brokenness already inside of him, drifted away. The fact that he felt it at all was a sign of how wrecked he was. The barrier he had in place against the compulsions had weakened.

Augus hummed richly, pressed his forehead to Gwyn’s.

‘Not only are you Unseelie, but you’re in the leagues of the Nain Rouge, and Makara in terms of raw power. You manipulate, and lie, and betray, and blackmail. You _broke_ a blood-oath. You break fae laws and so far I see no one coming for _you_. And, yes, of course Seelie fae can do all those things too. Quite well in fact. But look at you. You’ve struggled all this time not to be one of us, and you’re just so perfectly _one of us.’_

‘I’m glad someone’s getting something out of this,’ Gwyn said, voice wet, realising belatedly that his eyes were still streaming tears, he was trembling. He couldn’t seem to help himself.

Augus’ arm tightened around his back. The hand in his hair shifted down to his hairline, traced fingers along it repeatedly. Augus kissed him on the cheek, smiling as he did so.

‘I’m getting a lot of out of this.’

Augus shifted and pressed his lips to Gwyn’s, a lukewarm pressure that opened to warmth when Augus forced Gwyn’s mouth open with his own, sliding a hot tongue into his mouth, slicking over Gwyn’s. He tilted his head and they both inhaled at the same time as the angle improved. Gwyn held his breath, Augus exhaled against him, using his weight to force Gwyn into a more relaxed position against the headboard.

He’d never thought that if someone found out, _this_ would be the response he’d get. Augus kissed him thoroughly, making a small, greedy noise when Gwyn’s mouth opened further. And then Gwyn found himself responding when Augus withdrew to bite hard at his lower lip, licking a wet, heavy stripe over his lips before laughing behind a closed mouth, darkly amused.

The hand at his hairline dropped down, became a second arm around his shoulder. Gwyn realised that he was being hugged, that Augus was actually _hugging_ him. His forehead drew together. He frowned.

_‘Don’t_ patronise me.’

‘No?’ Augus said. And then he was sliding off him, and Gwyn’s heart twisted in his chest, a stab of pain in his gut made him want to curl over. He hadn’t expected that response. He hadn’t expected it to be true.

He looked away when Augus tugged him down the bed, he let himself be manipulated until he was lying on his side. A moment later, Augus joined him, dragged blankets up from the base of the bed and covered them both, then curled himself around the back of Gwyn’s body, wrapping one hand around his torso, and sliding the other under his head and curling it upwards, so he could keep playing with Gwyn’s hair.

‘You’re so broken that pulling you apart piece by piece might actually help you,’ Augus said into his shoulder. ‘Imagine that.’

Gwyn said nothing.

His truth – the truth of what he was – it was reprehensible, his father had impressed upon him that terrible things, _terrible_ things would happen if he told a single soul. Terrible things had already happened.

Instead, he was lying on his bed, Augus spooning him, doing a surprisingly good job of...whatever it was he was doing. This was a side of Augus he was unfamiliar with. He dimly recalled Augus mentioning comforting his brother. He wondered how often they needed to console each other, what it must have been like, growing up as underfae.

Augus laughed quietly into Gwyn’s back, and Gwyn made a sound of disapproval. He did not appreciate being laughed at.

The laughter stopped. Augus arms tightened around him.

‘Gwyn,’ Augus said, his voice steadying, ‘I shall never tell anyone. This is not like everything else we...this is different. And I’m not just talking about for the sake of my own self-preservation. I understand now. A great deal. I would no sooner tell anyone about your alignment, than I would harm my own brother. I don’t break my oaths. I know you have no reason to believe me, but I never have. This isn’t a part of the game, do you understand?’

‘But you’re still going to laugh,’ Gwyn said, and Augus nodded. Then nodded again. Gwyn could feel a smile against his skin. He tensed, decided it would just be better if he left and pretended this had never happened, but Augus’ arms were warm bands around him, his body a presence that Gwyn didn’t want to admit was actually helping. He’d been about to _kill_ him, and Augus hadn’t done anything more than redirect his focus.  

‘Firstly, it is actually hilarious. I haven’t even properly thought about it yet, but the more I _do,_ oh, I have never placed much stock in Christmas, Gwyn, but this is the nicest thing anyone’s ever gotten for me. And I speak as someone who has received some _very_ nice gifts from the Unseelie Court, as well as high status clients. Secondly, you need someone who won’t hide from it, because you’re going to want to hide from this. As you hide from _everything._ And I can’t let you. I can’t stand it, when someone ignores what they are supposed to be. This is not the last time you will throw some repressed, childish tantrum, and that’s a poison inside of you. I know a lot about poison.’

‘Well, you are a poisonous creature,’ Gwyn muttered darkly.

‘Yes, exactly.’

Augus’ fingers stroked Gwyn’s side, they trailed across his forehead. His lips pressed kisses against his skin, closed ones, open-mouthed ones that dragged lips across nerve endings. Occasionally Gwyn felt his long eyelashes brushing against his back, minute feathery touches that tickled.

‘I won’t let you forget about this,’ Augus said. ‘You can try and hide. You can avoid me. You can even run away. But you need what I can offer you.’

‘Be quiet. I do not,’ Gwyn said, and Augus laughed as though Gwyn had said something delightful. Gwyn frowned, he was trying to make a point and clearly failing. Augus’ laugh wasn’t cynical, it lacked darkness. It was simply a sound of amusement, and Gwyn did _not_ find it charming, he did _not,_ because this was a serious situation and he-

But it was hard to hold onto that, with arms around him, and a head moving against his shoulders, hair tracing damp patches into his skin.

‘I want you to show me how dark you can get,’ Augus said, and Gwyn made a sound of distress and outrage that Augus soothed with his hands. ‘I want you to show me the light, properly.’

‘Never,’ Gwyn said, hoarse, determined. And then he realised that Augus wouldn’t relent on any of this. That in exchange for these moments of...whatever Augus was offering, he would push him like he had when he’d tied Gwyn to the cross, and Gwyn didn’t want to _think_ about any of it, he couldn’t, he’d spent his entire life not thinking about it and that was the only way he knew how to live with himself, the only way, because whenever he came back to himself, it was wreckage and wrongness and hurt.

His breathing sped up.

‘Alright,’ Augus said easily, clearly having no intention of listening, but ceding the conversation anyway. ‘Alright, Gwyn. Just let me do this for you. Right now. I...’ Augus made a sound of derision, and it took Gwyn a beat to realise he was making it at himself. ‘I’m going to have to do this a lot, I’m afraid.’

‘Laugh? Push? Be a general pain in my ass?’

‘Yes, but also, this. Right now.’ His arms tightened for emphasis. Gwyn frowned, confused. ‘We’ll just stay here like this, for a little while, and I’ll think of ways I would have murdered your father if he was still alive.’

‘ _Not_ comforting,’ Gwyn growled.

‘Well, I’m not doing it to comfort _you,’_ Augus grumbled. ‘Honestly, this isn’t all about you.’

‘He’s _my_ father,’ Gwyn said, and a hungry little sound slipped out of his lips when Augus’ hand stroked long lines along the side of his torso. He was sensitive there. He wasn’t turned on, but it felt surprisingly good. In response to the sound, Augus kept doing it, deepening the pressure and sighing against his back.

‘I don’t care, it’s _my_ problem. I’m the one who has to deal with you now.’ 

‘You don’t have to ‘deal with me,’’ Gwyn said, and shook his head when Augus traced the frown on his lips.

‘I will deny this vociferously,’ Augus said, ‘but I want to.’

Gwyn wanted to call that out for the lie it was. He knew it was the right thing to do. Along with his certainty that blood-oaths didn’t really mean anything, he knew that Augus could say that he cared but...he was _Augus._ And Gwyn was no Ash, he knew that. The comparisons ultimately didn’t mean anything either. Augus was alone and isolated, it would make sense that he would reach out for the nearest living thing, that he would perhaps even re-enact the comfort he wished he could provide his brother instead.

And Gwyn knew that if he had the strength, the fortitude, he would get up and make himself get on with his day. He would just-

But lips were pressing into the skin of his back. And one hand wouldn’t stop cleverly stroking his side, and the other now rubbed fingers gently against his eyelashes, making him shiver and then sneeze. No one had ever treated him like this before.

He refused to admit to himself that he liked it, but he also refused to move. An hour later, when he finally, reluctantly fell asleep again, Augus had simply pulled him closer, sighing with approval. Gwyn’s last memory as he drifted off was attempting to fight off how good that sound made him feel, and failing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, 'Soldier:' 
> 
> ‘These people are not your people,’ Augus said. ‘Do you know what was supposed to happen? You _must_ know. You were supposed to be given, a gift, to the Unseelie Court when you were a _baby._ They would have allocated you a family. You were born Court fae, you still would have been raised with privilege. And _love.’_


	25. Soldier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New tags: Family abuse, child abuse. This chapter also includes very rough sex, as well as questionable consent in a scene between Gwyn and Augus (including some flat-out noncon for Augus). There's probably a few more things to watch out for. So just a blanket: 'Please look after yourselves while you read.'
> 
> *
> 
> The delays between updates of Game Theory may be a little longer while I try and catch up on chapters myself, since I tend to write this beast out of order, and since making myself write it in chronological order, I've slowed down a lot. That being said, we're looking at a 5-7 day wait per chapter, which is still much shorter than the average fic writer! 
> 
> Thank you everyone for your comments, kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions and interactions with this fic. You have no idea how wonderful you are, or how great it is (it's been a difficult week for me, even I look forward to the Game Theory updates!)

_Unseelie._

Augus wouldn’t let him push it out of his mind. When Gwyn had eventually left his room, left Augus, left the memory of Augus finding out – and in such a stupid way – he’d been determined to push it all from his mind. Determined to go about his business, to look after the Kingdom that was never his Kingdom to begin with.

Except that when he’d come back from a series of meetings and gone to put on his armour for formal training, Augus was waiting for him, a smirk drifting around the corners of his lips. There was a gleam in his eyes, and only one reason for it to be there. Gwyn opened his mouth to tell him to find something else to do, and Augus laughed before Gwyn could say a word, and walked away.

Augus found it _amusing._

But Gwyn – aside from the times he was aware of the ironic, cosmic joke of it all – didn’t see the levity. Augus finding out had jarred a lot of memories inside of him that he had spent a long time, thousands of years, stamping down. Beatings from his father for not being born with the right alignment. The look in his mother’s eyes every time she saw him, as though mud and muck had come to life and appeared in front of her. Listening to the Seelie Court denigrate and talk about the Unseelie whenever they felt like it. And then, oh, _Mafydd._

Gwyn stopped putting on his armour and knuckled a fist into his gut, pushing in, squeezing his eyes shut.

How did Augus _guess_ everything? How could he know, from the limited information he’d gleaned from Gwyn, from his observations of Gwyn’s family, that Lludd had watched as Gwyn had...done what he’d done to Mafydd? How did he guess and then speak of wanting to kill _Lludd?_ Augus obviously didn’t understand, even though it sounded like he did. Lludd had been a spectator only, had spoken, hit him like always, and nothing more. Augus should have wanted to hurt _Gwyn._

A broken sound crawled out of the back of his throat, and then another. He knelt, suddenly, on the floor. The weight of his armour – usually so easy to bear – dragged him down until he was rooted to the floor with it.

There was no levity.

Revealing that secret once had destroyed him.

And despite Augus blood-oathing not to tell anyone, despite his assurances that it wasn’t part of the game, that he would leave it alone, Gwyn knew, he _knew_ that as soon as Augus got a taste of freedom, as soon as enough years passed, he would find a way to play Gwyn. He could – possibly – even be doing it now.

Gwyn laughed.

He was destined to be destroyed by the truth again.

He found _that_ very amusing.

*

To ensure that no one would discover the truth – no readers or empaths, no mages or fae sensitive to the alignments of others, there’d been a procedure when he was a child. When he was too young to know what was happening to him. He remembered being tied down to a table, his father keeping a strong grip on his hair and shoulder, and telling him that if he didn’t keep his light back, they would slaughter him like a boar in the hunt.

Then there had been pain. Unending pain. A knife had dug into his back, cleaved the muscles along his ribs, and then a white-hot split of agony so bright that Gwyn – amongst his screaming – started apologising, sobbing, for revealing his light.

He hadn’t, it was only the pain of it.

He’d been three.

The crystal charm they’d used stayed soldered to his rib. It was still there. It was the only scar he had present on his body. It had healed into a tiny, glistening white mark, right above the crystal itself.

It was the old magic that Lludd had used, that day. The oldest of fae magics, and banned besides. And it made Gwyn feel like his parents wanted him to live, or that his father did, at least. Even at three, he’d understood that Crielle had no love for him and wasn’t interested in his survival.

But he’d assumed that his father had done such a thing because he’d wanted him to survive. For years afterwards, he thought his father wanted him to _live._

It wasn’t until much, much later that Gwyn realised that he made mistakes about everyone. He was terrible at reading people. His father hadn’t wanted him to live. His father just couldn’t find a way to dispose of a three year old, and needed to quickly make sure that no one else learned of his alignment when it became obvious they couldn’t hide him anymore.

The old magic, the procedure, the pain had been about _reputation._

*

The first time he’d fought in battle, the first time he’d tested his skills, he was in a small band of soldiers and he was the youngest by hundreds of years. General policy amongst the fae was that children weren’t allowed to battle. But Lludd had pushed hard for it, using his own battle experience to testify to Gwyn’s skills, and Gwyn had only been eighteen years old. An adolescent, but in the extended adolescence of the fae, a _child._

At the time he had taken it as a sign that Lludd was proud and thought him ready.

Now, Gwyn understood what Lludd had been trying to do. It was incredible, really, that he’d survived Lludd’s parenting. He didn’t realise he was supposed to die in the field. And by the time he realised, he was too skilled to die.

The first time he’d fought in battle he was so nervous, so young, so terrified of making a mistake and letting his comrades down – it was the first time he’d had _comrades,_ people who didn’t seem to hate him outright, even if they were suspicious of his age and skills – that he’d forgotten he was Unseelie.

He’d forgotten he was an Unseelie fae, killing Unseelie fae. They hadn’t done anything to hurt him. It was a battle over a land dispute. He’d taken three lives and several wounds that healed within a week. Everyone was proud of him, and they gave him ale when he wouldn’t stop shaking afterwards. They told him it was normal. That most fae did that when they took the lives of other fae. It wouldn’t last. Eventually you got used to it.

They’d said he was brave.

So it wasn’t until the next day, walking back with the campaign of soldiers, learning crude and rowdy battle-chants, that what he’d done hit him.

He’d spent years trying not to think about it, but then all at once, he realised that he _wasn’t_ Seelie. And if it wasn’t for the actions of his father, he could have easily been one of that slaughtered group of fae. And he threw up several times and the other soldiers clapped him on the back and claimed a hangover.

But Gwyn had spent so long not thinking about it, he didn’t know why it made him nauseous now. Only that he couldn’t sing the songs about how awful the Unseelie fae were, and he didn’t know why.

They’d told him he was fair, and just.

Gwyn had learned to loathe himself long, long ago. Loading another reason onto his back was something he hardly noticed, except for the nausea that sometimes crept upon him after battle.

*

Nothing was easy to find in Gwyn’s palace-that-wasn’t-a-palace. There was no clear corridor to his main rooms. And often one had to walk through many other rooms to get anywhere. Halls and corridors were rare. The place was designed to be cryptic and confusing. It wasn’t a palace in a traditional sense, only called such because that’s what it had been called by the Kings and Queens before him.

Every King and Queen inherited – through their status – the ability to _shape_ the palace. They – in the manner that fae could make their homes – could place their hands against the walls and create castles and palaces that sprang, many-turreted, from the soil itself.

Gwyn had been the first to place his hands against the walls of the previous palace, and turn it into a maze of concentric circles, Gwyn’s rooms at the centre, and everything else designed to confuse. Gone were the multi-storeyed turrets and towers. Gone were the scalloped tiles of conical rooves and the battlements which were there for show and the courtyards and gardens that had made the Oak King’s palace so lovely. Gone were the permissions that allowed access to the Seelie fae. Suddenly they were restricted primarily to the Seelie Court, and Gwyn kept his palace to himself and did not invite guests. The only exception was that Gwyn had charmed the palace to receive those who might have a need of him, since he was hard to contact. Even then, those fae could not find their way past the first three circles of rooms no matter how grave their needs.

Gwyn was in one of his moss rooms, lost in thought, when Augus found him. The room was almost a cave, with no other entrances. It was very dim, and the ceiling – dirt and rock bowed over the room – grew tiny lichens and liverworts, glowed with green. Augus looked around curiously and then checked to see that no one else was in the room with them. There was a mischievous cast to his face.

‘Do you ever stand in a room and simply whisper the word _‘Unseelie,’_ just...for fun?’

Gwyn’s head snapped up, his teeth ground together.

‘Leave me be, Augus.’

‘Have you? I’m curious.’

‘No. _Leave.’_

Augus laughed under his breath, trailed his fingers along a mossy wall. Fingers became claws, and small clumps of moss fell to the ground. Gwyn’s jaw ached. It was needlessly destructive. He hated that.

‘You could say it now,’ Augus said.

 _‘Augus,’_ Gwyn said, standing abruptly and wondering if he’d have to change the permission in the room just to get some privacy.

They stared at each other. Augus smiled at him, eyes fever-bright. He was healthier now, Capital fae and having access to water. Even though he hadn’t fed on flesh for so long, he was vibrant with life. If his mother put in a request for a public display in a year, that...was going to be difficult to explain, even if he did temporarily demote Augus to underfae simply for the event. He would look _well._

‘I wish I’d never told you,’ Gwyn ground out, and Augus laughed.

‘You _still_ haven’t told me. I _guessed.’_

He sounded smug as he said it, and he stayed long enough to make sure that Gwyn knew it, and then left. Gwyn left soon after that as well, it was getting hard to concentrate on anything.

*

The first time he fucked someone after a battle was an accident. He’d been filled to the brim with bloodlust, and he was only thirty five. His centre had changed to triumph, and he’d moved out of home. He lived in a small barracks in a training camp that saw soldiers constantly. He had a single cot to himself that was too short, and his feet hung over the edge on the rare moments he slept or rested.

He was the only one who stayed all the time, who didn’t – in his mind – have a home to return to. He trained every day. He was still, by fae standards, only a very young teenager. He would remain a teenager until his early two hundreds.

After the tour, it wasn’t uncommon for some fae soldiers to drag each other off to the forest or to a secluded area to fuck. Some of the more brazen fae didn’t even look for a hidden space. When bloodlust sang through one’s veins, it transformed easily into other kinds of lust.

So it was that a soldier had stumbled upon _him,_ taken him by the upper arm. His hand had been bloody and rough, and he was easily a thousand years older than Gwyn. And Gwyn, wanting to understand, wanting to be a part of it all, had stumbled and let himself be dragged to a barely out of the way space.

But when he was shoved up against a tree and teeth bit into the side of his neck, he was reminded viscerally of the only other time this had ever been done to him, and memories of warmly laughing eyes, of familiar hands jabbed at him. He made a low, distressed cry.

The soldier had mistaken him, had leaned back and looked at him appraisingly, fingering his hair. They liked touching his hair. Some of them touched it for luck. It was shoulder length and currently blood-spattered, but they said it shone like the early morning sun. Fae were superstitious like that. Having a fae so young on their tours and finding themselves winning every single one; he became their good luck charm.

‘How old are you again? Fifty?’ the man said in a rough, hungry voice. He still had a hand on Gwyn’s shoulder, he palmed himself with the other with a familiarity that no longer made Gwyn embarrassed.

Living with the others had broken him of any modesty he’d had about his body, other bodies, about fucking. At thirty five he could shock other young fae with the jokes and crudities he knew. Sometimes he shocked the soldiers with some of the things he said. They didn’t expect it of him, especially as he had the face of someone far more innocent.

Except his eyes, they said. His eyes were growing harder.

‘Thirty five,’ Gwyn said. He found it difficult to dissemble.

‘Fuck me, you’re a baby.’

‘I am _not,’_ Gwyn snarled. He was swamped with the same bloodlust as his fellow, and he surged forwards away from the tree, hooking his fist into the man’s sweaty undershirt and dragging him down, smashing his lips against his. It was a clumsy kiss. The inside of Gwyn’s lips were cut on his own teeth, and then the wounds were opened when the soldier bit them wider. He was swamped with feeling, not all of it good. He didn’t do things like this, they reminded him of someone and something he needed to forget.

‘Fuck me,’ the soldier said against his mouth, and Gwyn started to retort when he realised it wasn’t an exclamation of shock, but an invitation.

‘You’d let yourself get taken by some fae child?’ Gwyn said, his core energy of triumph flickering up, hungry and pleased. Gwyn ripped his shirt, touched a hairy chest beneath and dragged his fingers down. He had no idea what he was doing. ‘You’d let me stick my cock up your ass?’

The soldier groaned in want, and then they were fumbling at each other. The soldier spat in his own hand even as Gwyn ripped the laces of the soldier’s pants apart. And Gwyn was so busy taking the other soldier clumsily in hand, feeling the warmth of his cock as a hot brand that seared the inside of his palm, that he made a low sound of shock when he felt a wet hand bury into his pants and wrap around him, squeezing harder than he could remember being squeezed. It edged him close to pain, and he cried out. The grip didn’t let up.

The man held out his other hand, palm up.

‘Spit into it. We need more than this, you’re fair-sized,’ the man said, and Gwyn stared at him, flushed, complimented. Gwyn spat into his own hand, ignoring the man’s palm, and reached down between them like he was used to this. He was shaking with nerves, but he slicked himself up further, like he knew what he was doing. The soldier – Gwyn had never learned his name – pulled down his own pants, dragged Gwyn away from the tree and stepped to it himself, bracing himself face forward on his forearms.

‘Do it,’ he said, breathless. ‘Put it in.’

Gwyn knew enough about this to know that he couldn’t just do _that,_ even as he wanted to, even as he leaned his back over the soldier’s and pressed down, ground his hips down into his ass. Gwyn gasped at the feeling of it. He wanted to _take._ He was one of the tallest in their party. Even at his age, he was an intimidating sight on a battlefield. He used that size to his advantage now.

‘I need to finger you first,’ Gwyn said, and the soldier laughed.

‘I’m fucking _Court,_ like you, I’ll _heal._ Just fucking _do it.’_

It was harder and easier than he thought it would be. Easy to spread the man’s ass-cheeks in his hands and position himself, harder to push in because saliva was not nearly enough to ease the way _._ Easy to then just force his way in because the man was making noises, feral, delicious noises that he was cutting off by biting into his own forearm. And hard because memories were threatening him and he didn’t _want_ them and he could only push them away by thrusting in hard, overwhelming himself with sensation.

The man shouted then, in actual pain, and Gwyn thought about hesitating, he _did,_ only he’d said he wanted it, that he’d heal. And if that was true, then Gwyn could be as rough as he liked.

He slammed the man up against the tree, desperate to prove himself, to forget, to _feel._ It was friction and a hoarse sound of shock in the back of his own throat when he realised that it was _good._ It wasn’t just a distraction, it was _good._

The man’s cries had become less sharp as Gwyn thrust into him, and Gwyn missed that pained edge and so he pushed harder, he snapped his hips forwards, almost lifting the soldier off his feet, until he could hear it again. His core of triumph demanded it from him. And it must have demanded something from the soldier, because the soldier clenched around him, whimpered as he spilled against his own hand where he jacked himself off. And Gwyn came only seconds later, holding his light back and still feeling like a fever had broken.

He stepped away, suddenly uncertain, and the man turned around and leaned tiredly against the tree.

‘You fuck like you fight.’

‘And how is that?’ Gwyn said, wanting to bathe, but tucking himself into his pants like the soldier did and pulling them up again. They could bathe later, he supposed. It wasn’t like the camp wouldn’t reek of sex that night anyway.

‘Like you wanted to kill me.’

Gwyn flushed red and swallowed.

‘You said you’d heal,’ Gwyn said, faintly accusing.

‘I _will_ heal. Don’t worry your precious, pretty head, most of us like it a little rough.’

And, as the years passed, it turned out that most soldiers _did_ like it a little rough. Though they were careful of Gwyn, because he had a reputation for being particularly merciless. It was a combination of his core energy, his size, his vigour they said. But it meant that he couldn’t simply drag any soldier off a battlefield to sate himself. He had to look for the ones who had done it with him before, who knew him and what he was like, who accepted or even liked it.

Sometimes new soldiers came along, offered themselves. Most of them didn’t come back again, but Gwyn didn’t feel pity for them. They’d been warned, if not by Gwyn, then by their comrades. He became aware that some came to him as a badge of honour, a sign that they’d withstood the force that was Gwyn immediately after battle. He only ever took men. He realised belatedly that unlike the majority of fae, he only preferred one gender.

The soldiers who came back over and over again were almost like lovers, except that they shared no affection, and they all ended up dying or moving on eventually. They owed each other nothing.

Gwyn liked soldiers. He enjoyed their company. Most of them were a simple, forgiving sort when you were on their side, and even when they disapproved of him, even when a higher-ranking fae cuffed him, no one beat him like his father did. No one looked at him like his mother. They enjoyed Gwyn’s company and treated him well, even if Gwyn felt like they didn’t really know him, or understand him.

Because if they knew he was Unseelie, a member of an alignment that was so often the _enemy,_ everything would be different.

Thankfully, they didn’t realise. Soldiers, some of them at least, could be quite dumb.

Gwyn felt like he fit right in.

*

Returning home was easier than it used to be. His parents still loathed him. Efnisien still baited him. But Gwyn’s new core energy – shifting as it did from loyalty to triumph – gave him an edge. They didn’t respect him, but they were more reluctant to make sport of him as quickly as they used to. They found it harder. And now when they insulted him, the insults had to be framed carefully, or Gwyn would respond in kind. He had grown claws out on the battlefield, and he had grown arrogance.

After all, when he was two hundred and four, not yet an adult, he had almost two centuries of battle behind him, and he’d lost none of his personal campaigns. He won everything he managed himself. He now lead his own team of soldiers, men and women who had decided to work for him since they appreciated his good luck and his vicious skill with a sword. He’d never been formally given an increase in rank, it had been awarded to him through the trust of those who followed him. And having those comrades-in-arms, knowing that they waited for him, it made it easier to come back and see his family.

He had learned how to be quietly cutting, had learned from higher-ranking men and women that sometimes you infuriated your enemy not by shows of power – which no fae enjoyed on the battlefield – but by a well-placed line.

Once, he’d come back and his father had walked out of the double-front doors of the estate only to look at Gwyn like carrion had turned up on his doorstep.

‘What are you doing here?’ he’d said.

Gwyn’s lips had lifted into a forced smile.

‘I missed the dogs.’

And he’d spent the entire day in the kennels, playing with the hounds. He’d actually intended to see his family, to be dutiful, to do the right thing by them.

But slighting his father and seeing the expression of shock and outrage on his stern features when Gwyn chose hounds over family, was too good an opportunity to pass up.

It wasn’t that he wanted to disappoint his father, he still craved and ached for his approval. It was only that he knew he would never get it now, and he knew that he never would be anything _other_ than a disappointment. The gravest slight he’d made to his family was simply that he’d survived them, and it turned out he had a knack for surviving battle too. Ever since then, his very existence was an insult to them. His appearing at the Estate was offensive.

Everyone in the family knew that. Everyone outside of the family thought they were proud of him. It made him laugh. He played along. Crielle had impressed upon him the many cruel things she could do if he didn’t uphold family reputation and appearance. But it amused him all the same when his comrades talked about how lucky he was to have a supportive, high-status family with so much privilege in the Seelie Court.

When he was four hundred and thirty two, he came back to the Estate once more, and now had proven himself to the point that the Oak King’s War General had scouted him out and asked him to join the royal army. Gwyn had said he would, if he could keep his comrades and manage his own campaigns. Gwyn was given a larger accoutrement of soldiers, funding to train and expand his own camp, and formal access to higher quality weapons materials and rare scrolls detailing ancient battle strategies.

He could, at times – especially during battle – be cruel. He was an effective torturer in the moment, though he lacked the cold calculation of some of his men and women. He had learned that being tortured was simply a more extreme version of what Efnisien used to do to him, those times he couldn’t get away. It was painful, but it hardly bothered him. If they were going to kill him, they would kill him. Mostly they just wanted information. They never got it. His eyes on the battlefield were bright, but hard and unforgiving.

Fewer soldiers came to him after battle, and those who did had to like pain. After all, he fucked like he killed; fast and brutal.

He had received a rare invitation to a luncheon with other members of the Seelie Court and Inner Court, and he sat – dressed inappropriately in a casual shirt and pants – and leaned back in a chair that was too small for him. His mother favoured delicate outdoor furniture, and he dwarfed it. Days of training and fighting, keeping up his skills, exploring when he wasn’t campaigning, had given him a hewn musculature. He felt out of place, and he was supposed to.

He didn’t mind.

His father had been talking with what looked like pride regarding his only son’s conquests in battle. And it sounded complimentary, but he knew that it was all for show. He simply watched, impassive, as kind words and flattery were heaped upon him.

Efnisien smirked at him with the shared knowledge that none of it was true.

‘I would like you on one of my tours,’ Lludd finished, talking to Gwyn directly.

Lludd was a practiced war-maker, a well-respected strategist. A few fae at the table made sounds of approval and pleasure at the invitation, and Gwyn in turn smiled at his father. But his chest turned to ice, he felt cold. He knew now that he had been trained to die. And he knew without a doubt, that his father only wanted him on a personal campaign, so he could accidentally run him through with a sword and claim that he’d lost sight of himself in some berserker-like rage.

After all, he’d slighted his family too many times. Insulted his father to his face too often.

‘Would you, father?’ Gwyn said. ‘Truly?’

‘Yes,’ Lludd said, and he offered him a toothy smile that dripped with glamour. Gwyn was almost charmed by it. The glamour crawled into him, made him feel bereft, adrift without his father’s approval. But Gwyn gathered himself together and decided to end this charade now.

‘Didn’t you lose your last campaign?’

Lludd’s face went cold, and Crielle glared venom at him. Efnisien, however, simply looked like the entertainment was about to begin. Lludd had lost his last _three_ campaigns.

‘I am unbeaten,’ Gwyn continued. ‘Myself, my comrades, we are _unbeaten._ You trained me so well, father. Perhaps...’

Gwyn refused to swallow nervously at what he was about to say, he refused to show a moment of fear.

‘Perhaps you might like to join one of my tours.’

Laughter at the table, appreciative and aware of the joke, though they all assumed it was in good taste. Efnisien actually whooped.

‘That’s a _wonderful_ idea! The father joining the son. Wouldn’t you like that, Uncle?’

‘I would,’ Lludd said, laying the dra’ocht on so thick that it twisted at Gwyn’s gut, ‘But I cannot leave my comrades unattended. I see that you cannot either. Perhaps we shall join our forces in battle some day.’

‘Yes,’ Crielle said, her voice smooth. ‘Wouldn’t that be something?’

Later, Gwyn had gone up to his room to look for some old scrolls that had some strategies he was interested in reviewing. He’d sensed his father’s presence in the doorway and turned. Lludd looked enraged, and Gwyn’s hand had stiffened in an attempt not to crush the fragile scrolls in his hand. The cold glare in his father’s eye was one that still sent a race of fear down his spine. When Lludd stepped forwards, fists clenched, Gwyn planted his feet.

‘You can’t hit me anymore, father. I hit back, now.’

‘Then _hit back.’_

Gwyn’s father had proven why his core energy was ruthlessness, and Gwyn had attempted to match himself against him, but after the fourth blow he forgot about his arrogance and his comrades and remembered only that this was the room he used to be hit in _all the time._ His father had spat insult after insult, reminding him of his origins, of the fact that he should be grateful that he was even alive, of the betrayals he’d meted out against his family, against _himself._

At the end, his father had placed the heel of his boot onto Gwyn’s head, leaned down and said:

‘You would do well to remember that the last time you became so arrogant, so _sure_ of yourself, you broke a blood-oath, and murdered someone who would have grown up to be a good man. He deserved his life more than you _ever_ deserved yours.’

Gwyn left, chastened, bruised and cowed, bones fractured several times over. It took him over a week to heal, and longer still to face his comrades.

*

The kitchens in Gwyn’s palace were a network of rooms filled with the smells of herbs, cured meats, freshly baked bread, desserts, along with charcoal, smoke, the rotting, fermented fruit that the trows themselves ate. It was a myriad of scents that Gwyn loved. The kitchens were filled with long, low trestle tables, designed for the trows. And Gwyn often sat on one of the long benches, knees up past his hips, hunched over bread and stew, or whatever he could get his hands on, sating his appetite.

He walked into one of the kitchens and paused.

Augus was standing there, a large array of fresh greens and what looked like seeds and grains around him. He was in the process of adding capers to a bowl of greens, and two trows were watching him. One was crouched on the bench itself, fascinated, and the other stood next to him, curious.

‘There,’ Augus said quietly. ‘It’s not standard waterhorse fare, which is why I’m not surprised you didn’t know of it. Follow the recipe I’ve just showed you and bring that to me once every two days. No more than five or six capers, their taste is overwh-’

Augus turned around, saw Gwyn, and looked – of all things – abashed, to be showing the trows how to make food. But the slight widening of his eyes, the slackness in his mouth, was soon replaced by a tightening of his features, a smugness.

And with that, Gwyn’s curiosity disappeared, he glowered.

The trows were still fascinated with Augus’ greens. The one on the bench had dug its spindly hands directly into the bowl, and the other scratched out the recipe with a bedraggled quill.

Augus turned his back to the bench and leaned against it, he scrutinised Gwyn for a moment longer, and then started to laugh.

Gwyn’s teeth smashed together in his mouth, and thick, burning light overtook him. He lunged at Augus so quickly that Augus didn’t have time to react, though the laughter died in his throat when Gwyn picked him up by the throat and then turned and threw him brutally against a wall of copper pans. The pans clattered and fell to the floor. Augus hissed in pain, eyes squeezing shut. The trows fled.

‘You make your blood-oath like you are offering me something _generous,_ but then you insist on laughing, on this _ploy_ that will demoralise me. You are insufferable!’

Gwyn’s fingers tightened into Augus’ throat, and he drew him – choking now, eyes wide with alarm – away from the wall and slammed him back into it. He didn’t use his full strength, he didn’t need to. He threw Augus down to the ground and stared at him, breathing hard.

‘Do not _play_ with me,’ Gwyn snarled. He could hear his breathing. He thought, for the first time in months, he might be able to hunt.

The kitchen was deserted of trows. The bowl of greens had been upturned. A quill and scroll of parchment, pots and pans, lay around them on the floor.

Gwyn turned away and marched out of the room. He had almost reached the door when waterweed coiled thick around his calves. Gwyn shouted in frustration as he lost his footing, grabbed onto the bench to stop himself from hitting the ground. All that happened was that he pulled the long bench over onto himself. He hit the ground hard.

He started tearing at the waterweed, but Augus was already upon him, a darkness on his own features. He thumbed nails into pressure points at Gwyn’s wrists and Gwyn kicked up, pushing him to the side.

‘Get _off,’_ Gwyn said, and Augus laughed coldly.

Augus opened his mouth to retaliate, but Gwyn was stronger, Gwyn had _always_ been stronger than Augus, and he felt trapped. He smashed his weakened fist into Augus’ wrist, and then grabbed at his hair, knowing his scalp was sensitive. Augus cried out when two strands of waterweed came free, and then the breath was knocked out of him. Gwyn had pinned him to the ground, straddled him.

‘I will _demote_ you,’ Gwyn said.

A bright, amused light continued to dance in Augus’ eyes, despite the pain he was in. But as he took in Gwyn’s expression, it disappeared and Augus’ brow furrowed.

‘You’re serious,’ Augus said, breathless.

Gwyn laughed.

‘I am supposed to _kill_ you for this!’

Gwyn closed his eyes briefly, hand still in Augus’ hair, blood having met his fingers where he’d pulled out the waterweed. He let go and stood up, wiping it off on his clothing. It was an uncouth habit, but for years it was the way things were done on his campaigns. Place more blood on your armour, look more formidable. His breathing was shaky. His rage was fleeing him.

He didn’t want to do this. He was supposed to kill Augus. He was supposed to kill Augus for a lot of reasons, but _especially_ for this.

He’d killed someone once for this, hadn’t he? He’d already done it once before. Hadn’t he proven that he could?

A small sound tore out of his throat and he didn’t look at Augus again as he turned to leave.

‘According to who!’ Augus said, when Gwyn reached the door. Gwyn turned again, ready to attack, to smash down that taunting voice, but Augus had one hand underneath himself and the other was up, palm flat and open, in a calming gesture. ‘You’re supposed to kill me according to who? Is he here? Now? I’m almost certain he won’t rise from the dead because I’m still alive.’

Gwyn wasn’t having this conversation. He left.

*

That night, Augus opened the door to his cartography room and leaned against the doorframe, blocking him in. There was only one exit, and Augus was right there. Gwyn stared at his map, it was so close to being finished, but he was stuck on the kind of lettering he wanted to use for the waterways. His mind had not been cooperating with him of late. Sometimes he forgot how to think. Other times his head was so full that he could hardly move.

‘King,’ Augus said, infusing a level of condescension in the term that he hadn’t even heard when Augus mocked him back when he was free and mad.

Gwyn pushed his chair back and stood up. How was Augus not getting the message? He turned to see a smirk on Augus’ face, but an odd softness in his eyes.

‘False King,’ Augus said, smirk widening.

Gwyn’s breath stuttered in his lungs.

_‘Fraud.’_

‘I have been a successful King for my people!’ Gwyn cried out. For had he not, many times, had dreams that they would find out, that they would level these accusations at him? The worst part was that they would all be _true._

Augus breathed out laughter and then shook his head slowly.

‘Which people? Which people are your people, Gwyn? Don’t you hate it here?’

Gwyn shouldered his way past Augus into the corridor, and Augus followed him. Having Augus behind him, at his back, put a prickling sensation in his spine. Gwyn’s jaw was starting to ache from how much he was tensing it.

‘Shouldn’t you be saying – right about now – ‘I, Gwyn ap Nudd, King of the _Seelie_ fae...’ Oh, now, don’t slam me up against a wall again, you’ve said the words before-’

Augus had stopped immediately, when Gwyn turned on him.

Augus was the one who looked around the corridor first, checking for any trows. The fact that he was doing it, meant that Augus wanted to talk about it again. Wouldn’t risk breaking his blood-oath.

_Of course not. The only person who’s done that, in this corridor, is you._

Augus spread his wrists, the one that Gwyn had punched was heavily bruised. Waterweed shot out of his palms, as thick as saplings and Gwyn dodged the first rope of it, only to be brought down by the second. He’d dealt with waterweed as an attack in the battlefield and he hated it there too, but at least there he could simply cut it aside with his sword. Augus leapt onto him, thinner strands of waterweed coming out of his wrists and keeping him pinned to the ground. Gwyn struggled briefly, and then realised that he’d either really need to put his back into it, or leave it alone.

He left it alone, stared up at Augus, unimpressed.

‘These people are not your people,’ Augus said. ‘Do you know what was supposed to happen? You _must_ know. You were supposed to be given, a _gift,_ to the Unseelie Court when you were a baby. They would have allocated you a family. You were born Court fae, you still would have been raised with privilege. And _love.’_

The waterweed eased off where it coiled around Gwyn’s legs, but Gwyn couldn’t move.

‘I know,’ Gwyn said.

‘They broke the old laws, in doing that. It is _compulsory._ You know that.’

‘I know,’ Gwyn said, voice cracking.

‘What do you know?’ Augus’ voice was gentle, now. ‘Tell me.’

Gwyn looked to the side. He could see the floorboards, the skirting board. It was dusty in the corners. The trows were fantastic at finding things, but cleaning was not their forte. He’d never cared.

‘It would have ruined Crielle’s centre to...reveal that she had given birth to me. All that time, as a family, generations of being proud of throwing true. And then, and then _me.’_

‘And what are you, Gwyn?’ Augus said. He looked around again, quickly. He looked back and Gwyn could feel the weight of his gaze on his cheek. ‘You still haven’t said it.’

Gwyn pressed his lips closed and felt waterweed coil and uncoil around his arms. He didn’t even know if Augus was aware that he was doing it. Gwyn could hear his heart beating. Augus shifted, one thigh by his left hip and the other pressing onto his right, keeping him down. Augus had both of his hands up at Gwyn’s shoulders.

Augus exhaled sharply.

‘Have you _ever_ said it?’ Augus said.

Gwyn’s eyes were burning. He didn’t want to be having this conversation. He shifted, testing Augus’ grip, and Augus’ fingers tightened around his shoulders.

‘Answer me,’ Augus commanded.

 _'Once,’_ Gwyn said, and then squeezed his eyes shut.

He’d only ever said it once. He’d never said it when his father had told him, not even to repeat the word back to him. He’d never said it on his own. He’d never said it until that one day in the stables, lying against the older, softer straw, while a young fae Reader begged and begged him to share his secret, to share what hurt him so much. He’d said it _once._

It had broken the oath.

‘Once,’ Augus said, a faint echo. His voice was weak. _‘Oh.’_

Gwyn forehead creased, his head hurt. He hated it when Augus realised things. Hated how quickly he put things together. Hated how often he was _right._ Especially now. For so long, Augus had no idea about Gwyn. For so long, it was just convenient to let Augus labour under his misconceptions.

‘Wouldn’t you have needed to say it for the blood-oath?’ Augus said, and Gwyn shook his head.

‘No one can find out,’ he added.

‘Really?’ Augus said. ‘Is that so? I can’t imagine why. Firstly, I know what your family would do to you, if it was revealed. I have a fair idea of what your mother is trying to do to you _now._ Secondly, I know what the _fae_ would to do to you. People would line up to destroy you. The Seelie fae can’t stand _lying,_ some of them murder for it. And the Unseelie fae might feel slighted that you’ve been killing them for thousands of years. Ah, but oh, this is perfect. Oh,’ Augus began to laugh. ‘Oh, can you imagine? You’re almost as much of a pariah as I am and you don’t even- Ah, no, _stop.’_

Gwyn had started struggling. Waterweed tightened against him once more, and Gwyn settled. Less because of the waterweed, more because Augus had stopped talking.

‘Oh, sweetness, this is going to take you some time, isn’t it?’

Gwyn’s eyes had flown open. What had Augus just called him?

He turned, opened his mouth, sure that he’d heard wrong, and then made a sound of shock when Augus leaned forward and slid his tongue between Gwyn’s lips, humming in appreciation. A hand came up and Gwyn shifted away from it, instinctively, but it was just fingers threading into his hair, coaxing his head into a different angle. Gwyn followed after a few seconds, and Augus licked at his tongue, rubbed the ridges of his teeth. The floor was hard beneath him, the waterweed was wet, cold coils around his limbs. Everything about the inside of Augus’ mouth was hot.

Thoughts were deserting him. Augus was coaxing at his tongue, sliding his alongside it, running the tip of his tongue down until he could press into the space beneath and lift. That sent a hot bolt of sensation down his spine, and Gwyn shifted fretfully, tried to bring an arm up to rest it somewhere on Augus, but the waterweed remained around him, heavy, keeping him loosely pinned.

Augus drew back and licked at the corner of his mouth, before drawing his top lip between his teeth and biting down, licking at the pain he’d caused when he released his grip. Gwyn opened his eyes, and Augus was watching him, an unfathomable expression there.

‘See?’ Augus whispered. ‘I know. I still want you.’

Gwyn’s face twisted in denial, and Augus licked at his mouth again.

‘I want you more, actually.’

‘Augus, I’m-’

‘You can’t kill me. You need someone who knows and still wants you. Like your family didn’t.’

Gwyn’s blood ran cold. He felt like he’d been struck. Beneath the shock of Augus’ audacity, regardless of how true the statement, came a seething, flickering light. He felt it now, underneath his skin, right there, too close to the surface. Had it been like that all day?

‘They would have killed you in the crib, if they could have gotten away with it. And maybe they could have. Maybe they just wanted an in-family scapegoat. A target. And deep down you know they would have killed you. Has anyone, aside from possibly _yourself,_ ever wanted you as obliterated as your family have?’

The light within him became a rage that was cold, feral, hungry. He growled.

Gwyn tore through the waterweed, pushed Augus over. Augus struggled, but in the tight space, with Gwyn imprisoning his wrists, he was easily overturned. Gwyn had status over him, strength, desperation. He didn’t want Augus to talk anymore. He didn’t want to hear _any_ of it. He manhandled Augus onto his stomach and shoved his fingers into the hem of his pants, jerked them down, bared his ass. Augus made a sound of shock.

Gwyn sucked wetly on two fingers, had contemplated sticking them in Augus’ mouth, but knew he’d likely get bitten. And Augus made a sound of indignation when he realised what was happening, struggled harder, and Gwyn kept him pinned to the floorboards, hoped none of the trows would cross their paths. It wasn’t likely. They stayed away if they knew people were around, unless they wanted something. He hoped they didn’t want something.

He shifted his grip on Augus so that he could spread his ass-cheeks with one hand, and with the other he pushed his two saliva-wet fingers into Augus roughly, tearing a sound of pain and outrage from him.

‘You graceless _oaf,’_ Augus growled. ‘Do you think I won’t retaliate for this? You had-’

Gwyn pushed deeper into tight, wet _heat._ It was all friction around his fingers and his cock twitched in his pants. Augus made a thin, tight sound and then hissed it out.

‘Everything you do to me, you want done to _yourself._ You’re so _facile.’_ Augus grunted when Gwyn pushed deeper, ignoring him, wishing that he had a gag in his pocket, something to stop him from _talking._ ‘If you had just asked me nicely, I could have fucked you almost dry a long, _long_ time ago. You stupid, idiot barbarian.’

‘Do you _never_ shut up?’ Gwyn said, and Augus laughed. He laughed even as Gwyn could feel the rim of him clenching hard around his fingers.

‘You’re Unseelie,’ Augus said, amused, even though his voice was strained. Gwyn growled again. If he could carve that word out of Augus’ tongue so that he could never say it again, he would. ‘You’re Unseelie, Gwyn. Tell me, what do you feed on?’

Gwyn blinked.

‘Food. Vegetables, meat, grains, whatever is-’

‘No, really, _what_ do you feed on?’ Augus said, laughing. ‘The food you eat in these kitchens is a temporary stay. Oh, by the gods, you don’t even _know_ that about yourself, do you? You _moron._ And your true-form, has anyone ever seen it? Have you?’

Gwyn’s fingers had frozen, his breath had caught up in his throat.

‘I know what you feed on,’ Augus crooned into the floorboards, and then turned his face to the side, shifting so that he could slide his eyes and meet Gwyn’s stunned gaze. ‘I _know._ I know why you’re so hungry all the time. I know because I’ve _lived_ it. I know what it is to not be able to sate your true appetite, and so eat and _eat_ everything else. I know because many Unseelie fae know what it’s like. It’s something we have to live with, just like those blasted Seelie have to live with their stupid sense of ingrained honour.’

Augus flashed a grin.

‘Do you know what you feed on? Here, I’ll tell you. I’m feeling generous. How many fae is it that you’ve killed now? And since...what age? What age were you, Gwyn? What age were you when you made your first kill in the forest? And how young when you killed your first fae?’

Gwyn withdrew his fingers and fell clumsily backwards onto his hands, knees bent in front of him. He stared at Augus, mouth open. Augus pulled his pants back up and faced him, a knowing threat in the creases of his eyes.

‘How many thousands of fae have you killed? Tens of thousands? How many forest animals? It makes you feel so _alive_ doesn’t it? You don’t need to be the one out there, _killing_ fae, in order to be a successful King. You don’t need it to be a General. But doesn’t it _feed_ you, to be out there? Everyone knows, oh,’ and Augus started laughing again, ‘ _how_ has no one realised what you are? Everyone knows that you take more deaths than any other soldier in your squads. What a brave, brave soldier you are. So _hungry.’_

Gwyn could hear his breathing, Augus could too. His eyes narrowed, he crawled over, placed his hands on Gwyn’s knees.

‘And when you can’t kill them, you kill animals, and when you can’t kill _them,_ you eat at the kitchens like a starveling, wondering why it’s not _enough._ If you’d been raised with us, we would have told you. We look after our own. We know what it’s like.’

Hands were sliding between his knees, down his thighs; a slow and steady confidence. Gwyn could only stare. It was so obvious. He’d even been pushed to retire from campaigns when he was elected King and he’d refused. He’d never thought about why. He’d just...refused.

‘How many fae have you killed, Gwyn?’ Augus said again, and then something dark passed over his face.

He grabbed Gwyn’s shoulder cruelly and forced him sideways and then over onto his stomach, taking advantage of Gwyn’s shock, his numbness. He straddled his thighs and then dug his claws into Gwyn’s back, over the top of his neck, pressing through skin and dragging lines down through him, through his shirt. Gwyn cried out, blood bloomed into the fabric. The heat of it made him realise how cold he was. His temperature had dropped, and yet he could still feel it, the light zinging inside of him, firing up along the edges of his nerves.

‘How many? It’s tens of thousands, isn’t it? My, what a death count. So tell me, do you know what you feed off? Do you know what your _true_ appetite is? Think about it. The first time, the only time you blew out your power, what did you do, Gwyn?’

Fingernails clawed into the hem of his pants and then jerked them down, baring him, a mirroring of what he’d done to Augus a few minutes ago.

‘Tell me what your power brought to all those living things near that first Estate. Did you even know that was you trying to feed? You would have been too scared to know. Likely, too scared to _feed._ All that death, wasted.’

Gwyn made a sound in the back of his throat, and Augus pushed himself between Gwyn’s thighs, pressed one hand onto his spine, slapping down on bloodied fabric. Two fingers pushed at his lips, and Gwyn opened his mouth, flushing hot.

 _‘Suck,’_ Augus demanded.

Gwyn leaned forwards, used his tongue to draw Augus’ fingers into his mouth. He had to work to find saliva. But he managed, and licked up into the crease of his fingers, sucked absently. His mind was coasting over thousands of battles, over all the deaths he’d taken. He was shaking.

‘Your mouth is dry,’ Augus observed. ‘That’s not going to be enough, even for this.’

The fingers of his other hand pressed into his hips.

‘Lift.’

Gwyn lifted his hips and then brought his forearms up, clumsily, under his chest when Augus wrapped fingers around him. Augus squeezed thoughtfully, and then began moving his hand over Gwyn’s length, coaxing him to full hardness and then further still. Gwyn pressed his forehead into the back of his hand, his legs spread wider, his face burned hot.

‘The backs of your ears are red,’ Augus said, and then leaned over him, scraped teeth over the side of his neck.

‘I feed on human flesh, as long as I’ve killed it. The Nain Rouge feeds on _everything,_ but her preferred food is the raw power and souls of other fae. Particularly powerful fae. Penny Greenteeth fed off the ones she drowned. The Dullahan feeds off the ones that see him. Makara feeds on the flesh of liars. And you, strange light fae that you are, feed upon _death.’_

Gwyn groaned as Augus twisted the side of his palm cleverly over the head of Gwyn’s cock. He was shaking his head, and then as the truth of it started to sink in, he struggled, because he didn’t want to know this. And if he did know it, if it became a truth inside of him, he wanted to deal with it on his _own._

Augus’ hand sped up, tightened, and the heat of it in the bowl of his pelvis paralysed him. He cried out against his skin, bit into himself. Augus’ hand was still speeding up, merciless now, the grip around him so tight it was painful. Gwyn keened into his own flesh as he edged closer, as darkness opened up and he began to tumble into it.

 _‘Wait-’_ Gwyn managed, and then his throat closed around a strangled noise as he came, Augus’ hand cupping around him and catching his release, milking it from him. Gwyn’s muscles were still clenching, he was still shuddering through his orgasm, when Augus smeared his own come against his opening.

He yelped when Augus pushed two fingers into him, forced them deep straight away. It _hurt._ His shoulders heaved, he shifted his legs around the burn of it, and Augus only scissored the come in deeper, making tsk-ing sounds under his breath. He sounded vaguely dissatisfied. Gwyn’s eyes were leaking, he felt embarrassed, and he wasn’t sure why. After everything he’d done with Augus, but...

This was the first time it had been like this, out in the open. The trows could come across him. They weren’t likely to, but they could.

Augus withdrew his fingers roughly, and Gwyn’s muscles bunched to get his limbs up underneath him and _stop_ this. But even as Gwyn raised himself up on his forearms, he felt the head of Augus’ cock line up against him and cried out a sound of denial. Augus growled at him, a deep, dominating sound that froze Gwyn to the spot. Augus wrapped his arm around Gwyn’s torso and tugged him backwards, thrust in hard.

Pain raced up the back of his spine, his forearms collapsed underneath him, and Augus pushed deeper, bucking when Gwyn’s flesh resisted him. Gwyn pressed his mouth against his upper arm and cried out long, the noise shaken up by his own breathing, by Augus fucking his way into Gwyn on short, sharp thrusts that were not smooth, not easy, tore at him.

When Augus was fully seated, he knotted his fingers into Gwyn’s hair and pulled his head away from his arm. Gwyn’s uneven, jagged breathing was loud around them.

‘This is entirely inadequate,’ Augus said, disgusted. ‘But that’s what you want, isn’t it? How many times have you used spit and come on the battlefield? Is that what your life is Gwyn? A battleground? How endlessly _dull.’_

He lifted his hips up, sawed his way backwards and then thrust back in again. Gwyn tried to pull away from Augus’ grip even as a cry was forced out of him. Augus laughed darkly.

‘Why don’t you shut up and take it like one of your soldiers?’ he said.

Gwyn whimpered. Augus withdrew and slammed back again, and then started vicious, sharp thrusts that seemed designed to hurt him as much as possible. He hadn’t known Augus could fuck like this, there was no finesse in it, nothing but roughness.

If he thought Augus would go easy on him, he was wrong. Yet even as the pain refused to resolve into pleasure, lines of arousal were building inside of him, winnowing through his veins. His cock twitched where it was pressed hard against the ground. He was uncomfortable, felt awful, but for all that he didn’t understand why, he _liked_ it.

But it was too soon after coming, and Augus was being too brutal. Gwyn felt flares of arousal burn through him, but he wasn’t getting hard, he wouldn’t come from it. And Augus wasn’t letting go of his hair, keeping his head back, his throat taut. Pained sounds started falling from his throat and Augus made a corresponding grunt of distaste.

‘This is hurting you,’ Augus said, and Gwyn’s eyes squeezed so tightly that more tears spilled.

‘I’ll heal,’ Gwyn rasped. ‘D-don’t stop.’

Augus managed something that could have been a sigh, if it wasn’t for the fact that he was still thrusting rhythmically into Gwyn. His hand tightened in Gwyn’s hair, his hips shifted, canted in a different angle, and then he pressed even deeper, and Gwyn cried out sharply.

‘Still? You _still_ don’t want me to stop?’ Augus said, starting a rhythm that stayed deep and rocked him. It was dully familiar. The few times he’d gotten so drunk he’d sought out company after battle. The _very_ few times he’d let himself be taken as raw as he took others. He’d been used like this before.

‘Ah,’ Augus breathed, voice suddenly ragged, ‘don’t answer. I’m starting to see why you like it so much.’

Gwyn grit his teeth against the sounds that wanted to spill. His whole body was tensing against the unrelenting pain of it. Having already come, the pleasure was further away. He had no choice but to wait for Augus, and hoped he wouldn’t take much longer.

Augus didn’t. With a heady groan, Augus pressed deep, held himself still and Gwyn felt it, felt the heat of him spilling inside, knew he was at least scratched when it burned him further. He would heal, and quickly, but it hurt like fire now. He moaned, and Augus suddenly let go of his hair and reached around to the front of his face, curving a palm around his wet cheeks. It was startlingly gentle. A horrifying contrast. Gwyn tried to jerk his head away, but Augus followed and pressed his palm against him again.

‘It’s alright,’ Augus said softly, voice trembling with his own release. ‘It’s alright.’

‘Get off me,’ Gwyn said, his own voice breaking. But Augus stayed pressed inside of him, rested his chest on Gwyn’s back and pushed down with his weight.

‘No,’ Augus said. ‘Wait.’

Gwyn slumped back down to the ground, and Augus reached up with his other hand and pushed it back into Gwyn’s hair. He rubbed the skin he’d pulled gently, easing the ache in his head. The other thumbed tears away from his face, reached up to the corner of his eye and realised that tears were still spilling. Augus sighed.

‘This place is bad for you,’ Augus said.

That Augus was being so gentle with him now was startling. But what surprised Gwyn more than anything was how much he craved it. After initially turning away, he pressed his face blindly into Augus’ palm, making a small, needy sound, and then another. Augus hushed him, kept massaging at the side of his head, smoothing away the frown-lines on his forehead.

‘Can you teleport us like this?’ Augus said, and Gwyn nodded. He felt uneasy, fractious, but Augus touching him was settling something inside of him. He didn’t want it to stop.

He knew what Augus wanted though, and he teleported them both – Augus still inside of him – to the top of his bed. The light shimmered away, and Augus resumed stroking him again, resting his head on Gwyn’s shoulder.

‘You brought a once-mad once-King up into your palace. Did you need another monster for company? Were you so lonely? So desperate for some _kin?’_

Gwyn’s breathing hitched.

He just _liked_ him.

‘Don’t worry, Gwyn. I’ll keep your secret for you.’

_Augus, you are one of my secrets._

Gwyn’s head sank onto the blankets. His chest ached. His body was sore. There was a low buzz of discomfort in the base of his spine. He’d always liked Augus. He’d made a cardinal error, infatuation growing during that weekend in his home. And when he’d been invited to helm the Wild Hunt with him, he’d hoped for friendship, he’d hoped for more than friendship, knowing how futile it was.

Now he didn’t know what he had with Augus, but he didn’t dare hope it was real. And that was a sharp pain in him, worse than all the others, and his lips thinned on the sound that he made. Augus stilled above him.

‘Gwyn, sweetness,’ Augus said, and Gwyn’s heart skipped over itself at hearing that word again. He hadn’t misheard the first time. He hadn’t! ‘Let yourself be easy for a while. Just a little while. A few minutes.’

The words unlatched something inside of him, and he relaxed further, releasing tension he didn’t know he still held inside of him. Augus murmured a sound of approval, and dragged both of his hands through Gwyn’s hair, over and over again. It was hypnotic, mesmerising, and Gwyn realised he could. Just for a little while. Just for a few minutes. With Augus there, he could let everything go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, 'Family:'
> 
> ‘Do you ever regret it, Augus?’ Gwyn said, opening his eyes slowly. He looked unhappy, thoughtful. There were faint frown-lines on his forehead, the hint of a frown on his face.
> 
> ‘What?’ Augus said. He sat down next to Gwyn, apprehensive, but curious all the same.
> 
> ‘Do you know how many Unseelie fae I had to put down because of the madness they succumbed to after you took their land from them?’


	26. Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No new warnings, though some of the old ones still apply. Augus is being alternatively awesome and then a dick, AS USUAL. 
> 
> *
> 
> THANK YOU for all the comments and kudos and bookmarks (I lost a bookmarker, alas! Farewell bookmarker, I hope you find fics you enjoy more) and asks and subscriptions and interaction-y things and basically everything. I honestly would not be considering writing original fiction novels again if it wasn't for folks like you.

He didn’t know how to get himself out of the Seelie Court. He didn’t know how to get Gwyn out of the Seelie Court, now that he was convinced that he had to. Once he set his mind on something, he didn’t know how to shake it loose. It was liquid falling into water, one couldn’t exactly scoop it back out again. It coloured his thoughts, made him painfully aware that his life was bound to Gwyn’s, and he _owed_ him.

Augus believed in squaring one’s debts, and Gwyn had saved his life. He’d chosen to spare him at a time when everyone else wanted him dead, and even if – at the time – Augus hadn’t been able to see that for what it was, since then he had come to learn exactly how unlikely it was that he would have been offered that from anyone else other than Ash. It didn’t matter why Gwyn had offered it, the fact was that the only reason Augus lived was because Gwyn had willed it.

Then he went and saved Augus’ life _again._ Augus wasn’t even counting the time when Gwyn had hunted him – uncouth, brutal, mad idiot – because Augus had plainly saved _himself_ that time.

But no, when Gwyn’s soldiers had happened upon him, when Augus realised he was fighting for his life, so desperate he wanted to change into waterhorse-form, Gwyn saved his life again. He’d even taken another’s life to ensure it. At the time it hadn’t really occurred to Augus what had happened, but when he realised how much debt he needed to square off with Gwyn, he’d sworn in exasperation on and off for about half a day.

Squaring a debt was complicated. He knew he was deluding himself if he said their relationship was simply paying back what he owed. He was deluding himself if he told himself the only reason this was happening was because Gwyn was his captor. The one thing that he knew – possibly even better than Gwyn did – was that Gwyn was as much of a prisoner as he was.

Augus walked through corridors, looking for Gwyn, tracking the stark iron scent of him. They didn’t spend too much time in each other’s company outside of their scenes, but matters had changed now Augus knew Gwyn was Unseelie. In a place that reeked of Seelie magic, knowing that someone else shared his alignment was a balm. He realised there must be something hiding it from others, some magic or spell, because Augus hadn’t sensed it, and no one else had either. But he knew now, and now that he could see it, he could see little signs of it in everything Gwyn did.

He still wanted to know more about Gwyn’s light, he wanted to see it. Knowing that it was an Unseelie power, that it could be so destructive; what must it be like to wield something like that? There were a lot of species of fae who had dangerous powers, dangerous to themselves and others, and Augus knew that repressing it wasn’t healthy.

Augus opened the door to Gwyn’s map room, raised his eyebrows in greeting when Gwyn hurriedly turned towards him. No brushes in his mouth today, but he did have a fountain pen tucked behind his ear, another in his hand.

‘Do you want something?’ Gwyn said, and Augus walked around the bed, pulled up another chair in the room, sitting near him.

‘I decided I would watch you work. Your palace is boring.’

‘It’s quiet,’ Gwyn said, frowning at him. ‘Why don’t you go and spend some time in the lake?’

‘Speaking of the lake,’ Augus said, ‘it’s getting quite tedious shifting to my waterhorse state and not having anything to digest. When you sounded me, you said you would see about getting me someone to eat. Did you _forget?_ Does it offend your delicate fae sensibilities, because I eat flesh and you just eat death?’

Gwyn stared at him, his expression shifting from open to hard in a few seconds. Augus waited him out. They were still learning how to talk to each other, and it wasn’t easy. Augus naturally needled at people. Gwyn was suspicious, sometimes outright paranoid. Augus couldn’t entirely blame him, but it meant that seemingly innocuous conversations could end with Gwyn leaving after only a few minutes.

‘Are you worried about making me even stronger?’ Augus said, smirking. When Gwyn shifted, Augus felt a small surge of triumph. Gwyn was intimidated by Augus’ strength. If he’d _known_ that when he’d been King, he would have used it to his advantage. But he was no longer King, would never be King again, didn’t even want it anymore. He missed simple things now. Ash. The feeling of being outside of the Seelie Court. Things that seemed impossible to get.

_At least for now._

Gwyn picked up a small piece of parchment and made a note in a shorthand Augus didn’t recognise.

‘I will source you someone to eat,’ Gwyn said. ‘I will try and make sure they meet your requirements, but you must understand that I do not hunt as you do, and acquiring clean-living humans is harder these days than it once was.’

Augus was surprised, and behind that a maw of hunger opened inside of him, made itself known. He was _hungry._ It wasn’t comfortable to suppress his hunger for flesh for so long, tension crept through his body before he forced it to creep away again.

Gwyn’s gaze was knowing. It was disconcerting, but Augus was beginning to realise that Gwyn was far more observant than he’d first assumed.

‘It’s been some time,’ Augus admitted. ‘If you can imagine, hunting wasn’t my priority in the weeks leading to my capture.’

Gwyn added a few more notes to his parchment and placed it down decisively. Augus hoped it said something like; _Get Augus someone to eat as quickly as possible._

Augus looked at the map Gwyn was working on. It was nearly finished now. He was unfamiliar with the landscape, the names, and judging from the montane regions, it was rugged, unfriendly land.

‘Your penmanship is very fine,’ Augus said, and Gwyn stiffened like he’d been insulted.

For Augus was also not without his ability to observe. He waited to see what Gwyn would do.

‘It’s...’ Gwyn’s eyes flickered over to the map briefly. ‘I had a competent tutor, who was very patient with me.’

Augus’ eyes narrowed, but he only picked up a small container of ink and turned it in his fingers, looking at the peeling label. It had been well-used. Gwyn had been doing this for some time.

‘Did you stay in touch with them?’ Augus said. Gwyn shook his head absently as he dipped his fountain pen into a pale blue ink, finished lettering the section he’d been working on. He etched each letter with care.

‘No, I wasn’t permitted to stay in touch with my tutors. Most of them gave me false names.’

Augus felt something inside of him still, even as he kept idly turning the inkpot.

‘Oh?’

Gwyn blinked down at his map and lifted the fountain pen, turning to look at Augus, shocked. As though he hadn’t expected to have revealed what he did. Augus had learned that it was difficult to peel back the layers of him. Gwyn was so unused to casual conversation about his personal life that he became awkward very quickly. It would have been endearing, if it wasn’t for the fact that Augus could already guess why Gwyn wasn’t allowed to stay in touch with his tutors, and he didn’t have room for endearing amongst a colder, deeper rage.

He loathed that he didn’t want to use this against Gwyn anymore, because it turned out there was _so much_ he could use against him.

‘I never had a tutor until I came to the Raven Prince’s Court,’ Augus volunteered. ‘And then I found myself overwhelmed. It turns out that if you are to move from underfae to a Court-worthy status, they generally like you to be educated.’

‘Yes,’ Gwyn said, leaping onto the change of subject. ‘You learned...the rapier and schooled under Fluri and the Raven Prince himself, did you not?’

‘And there was the matter of Courtspeak and erasing my accent, which I hardly remember now. And learning languages and lettering, though mine is not nearly so good as yours.’

Gwyn blushed, the colour – thought faint – showing up clearly on his pale cheeks. Augus resisted the urge to reach out and touch them, because Gwyn didn’t always respond well to that either.

‘Will you keep working?’ Augus said, because he hadn’t intended to interrupt him. Once, he had enjoyed watching the Raven Prince work. He found himself in the odd position of wanting to spend more time with Gwyn. The less antagonistic things became, the more he found his company pleasant.

Not that he minded the antagonism, particularly if he had control over it.

But this was good too.

Gwyn watched him for a long moment, as though gauging Augus’ sincerity. And then with a faintly confused look on his face, he went back to his work. Soon he lost himself in what he was doing, and Augus watched as he lettered out different locations, mixed new colours of ink, moving through every step of what he was doing with a precise and delicate hand. Augus knew then that he was seeing something that people didn’t see, knew it and tucked that knowledge carefully away. He wondered how it must have been for a young Gwyn to see every tutor he’d ever had disappear from his life, never getting to learn their real names.

For even Augus had become close to many of his tutors, and he hadn’t intended to.

After half an hour, Augus cleared his throat and Gwyn flinched hard.

‘Forget I was here?’ Augus said. Gwyn took a breath and nodded.

‘I apologise,’ Gwyn said. ‘I don’t...I’m not used to this.’

Augus stood up and stepped forwards, leaning down and pressing his lips to Gwyn’s. Gwyn was too shocked to respond, his lips were cooler than usual, dry and pliant. Augus withdrew and walked out again, closing the door behind him.

There was a power to this, as much as there was to any of the scenes he’d shared with Gwyn. And after forcing himself into Gwyn in that corridor – too raw, too dry, something that _had_ left a significant amount of blood on him afterwards – he tired of Gwyn’s addiction to brutality. Augus liked inflicting pain on others, but he liked moments of gentleness too, and he was determined to affect some sort of balance in Gwyn’s life, in his own. He’d spent too long living on the crueller end of the spectrum. Once, a long time ago, he’d only dropped into that mindset when he’d needed or wanted to, not as some default state.

Augus sighed as he went on his way, noticing some trows cleaning a room and ignoring them as they preferred. The last time he’d fucked Gwyn, it had left him feeling ill. And though he’d stayed with Gwyn for some time afterwards, he’d left sooner than intended. He’d cleaned blood off his member and ended up sitting in the lake, contemplative.

The fact that Gwyn was more okay with what had happened than Augus was, bothered him more than he could say. And in that moment, he’d learned something about himself.

He just wasn’t the person he used to be, anymore. He didn’t enjoy all qualities of pain, and he hadn’t enjoyed dominating Gwyn like _that._ Not in that crude, destructive manner.

But it was remembering how Gwyn had blindly pressed his face into Augus’ hand afterwards, crying out those short, sharp whimpers of need, that struck him the hardest. There had been a desperation there that Gwyn had kept hidden for a long time. Augus had seen glimpses of it before. Every time he left Gwyn after a scene to get water, a cloth, and Gwyn reacted as though Augus was about to abandon him. But _that..._

Gwyn was too much effort, it would be too _hard._ He liked the challenge of clients because they were always short-term. But Gwyn wasn’t a client, he was hardly a captor, he was more a prisoner than Augus and he had been for far _longer,_ and Augus’ heart had to go declare him important.

It actually made him furious.

*

The next day Augus went looking for him again, but couldn’t find him. Gwyn sometimes spent entire days away from the palace. It was another four days before he saw Gwyn by chance. Augus was in one of the smaller libraries that held ancient scrolls, looking through the section on medicinal herbs and rediscovering one of his older interests. Gwyn marched in, dressed in armour, _covered_ in blood, and went straight to a bookshelf, reached up and drew down a scroll. It was only then that he noticed Augus.

He stared at him, and Augus felt a frisson of heat move through him, because that was the Gwyn that had just been killing people, who fed off death, who was still – even now – looking hungry and not yet sated.

Gwyn didn’t say a thing to him, only marched right out again, was gone for the rest of the evening.

If Augus didn’t know any better, he would say that Gwyn looked angry at him, but he couldn’t surmise why, and he let it go. Gwyn would either tell him, or he wouldn’t.

*

Augus looked for him again in the morning and found him – dozing, hair still wet from a shower – in the room where the royal jewellery was kept. He had his eyes lidded, and he leant against the white plinth that encased the delicate Seelie crown in glass. Augus doubted that Gwyn had worn it a single day outside of his coronation.

He stepped quietly across a white tiled floor, looking around at all the plinths holding their pieces of jewellery. Here were the gifts given to the Seelie Kings and Queens over millennia, and the room ached with ancient power. Augus had found this place a few times in the past, though none of the seals or locks responded to him. The wall to ceiling cabinets along one side of the vaulted room, with jewellery locked away from view. And those pieces that were on display, protected in glass cases on square plinths, every surface gleaming, crowns and sceptres and pendants and torcs and even a single piece of chainmail with faceted gems refracting the light.

Augus was at a loss as to why Gwyn was even in here.

‘Scrubbed all the blood away, then?’ Augus said, knowing Gwyn would have heard him enter.

‘Do you ever regret it, Augus?’ Gwyn said, opening his eyes slowly. He looked unhappy, thoughtful. There were faint frown-lines on his forehead, and the hint of a frown on his face.

‘What?’ Augus said. He sat down next to Gwyn, apprehensive, but curious all the same.

‘Do you know how many Unseelie fae I had to put down because of the madness they succumbed to after you took their land from them?’

Augus’ lips thinned.

‘Oh, now, don’t pretend you didn’t feed off every single one of those deaths. That, in the moment, you didn’t experience the _triumph_ of it.’

Gwyn stared at him, Augus refused to look away. Gwyn sighed and looked down at his own hands, studied them, and Augus felt a flash of anger move through him.

‘Do you want to preach to me about how wrong it was? Is that it? Did you have a hard day, and now that I’m here, you want to confer it onto someone else? I’m not the one who has killed tens of thousands of fae at the _least,_ Gwyn. That’s _you.’_

Gwyn’s body tightened, one of his hands clenched.

‘Why did you take their land?’ Gwyn said. ‘I could never understand why you became so obsessed with land acquisition.’

‘I did it because I _could,’_ Augus said, his voice hardening. ‘I did it because I had the power to do it. Do you think I had some grand master plan for that land? I didn’t.’

Augus laughed.

‘Do you know why I took it? It was misdirection, sleight of hand. There was only one thing I was truly interested in, as King.’

‘You sent fae mad, killed Gulvi’s family, because of _sleight of hand?’_

Augus knew that tone of voice and he pushed his arms under himself to stand. He didn’t want this conversation, and he didn’t want it with _Gwyn._ Not ever. But Gwyn curved a hand around his arm and pulled him down again. Augus turned on him, baring his teeth.

‘Don’t you think this is going to be some teary event where I proclaim my guilt over some fae who died, who didn’t work to defend themselves.’

Gwyn nodded, as though what Augus had said made perfect sense.

‘Oh, I know, every fae for themselves, right? That’s the law of the underfae.’

‘Exactly.’

‘That’s the law the underfae need, isn’t it? Against Kings and Court fae who wield their powers mercilessly, who show no justice.’

Apparently they were having this conversation. Gwyn wasn’t yelling at him, wasn’t even obviously angry. There was a quietness in his tone. An _understanding._ He had no idea what he was talking about.

‘They were-’

‘Up against a very powerful, very mercenary King, driven mad. What if it had been Ash removed from his lake and not offered a substitute? What if-’

‘ _Don’t_ you try and appeal to me in this fashion, Gwyn, or I swear I will make you regret it.’

‘Make me regret it, then. I don’t need your tears. I don’t need your guilt. But look me in the eyes and tell me how it makes you feel now, to think that you were a King ousting the weak and the underprivileged. A lot of those fae died, Augus. A lot of those fae had to be put down.’

Augus snarled at him, felt his gut work to make a growl, but suppressed it. He tried to jerk his arm out of Gwyn’s grip, Gwyn wouldn’t let go.

‘If they wanted to rule, they could have worked to r-’

‘Worked to rule? You parroted a monster because he tortured you so often, and for so long, that when he showed you an ounce of care, he made you think that you loved and needed him.’

‘You will _stop.’_

But of course the compulsions never had any effect on Gwyn.

‘You killed fae because of that monster. He turned you into someone who abandoned everything you were, just to present him with a gift of a Kingdom. Just so you could say, ‘Look, I can do it too.’’

‘ _You will stop.’_

‘Your compulsions don’t work on me, Augus. They just tell me when I’m close to the truth, don’t they? You can’t feel guilty about those fae that you killed. You are actually incapable. You weren’t even yourself.’

‘I was-’

‘I know madness, Augus. Look at me, I _know_ it. And for you it lasted years, didn’t it? It grew and spread like a canker, and there was no one you could go to. Not until it was too late. The damage done.’

Augus whirled on him, growl sounding loud and deep, rumbling through the both of them. He struck out _hard_ and Gwyn was rocked by the force of it, his shoulder bleeding immediately. He didn’t move, not even when Augus dug his claws in deeper.

 ‘You don’t hate yourself for harming the fae,’ Gwyn said, with a terribly even tone that was relentless. ‘You never would. But the madness? It’s _beneath_ you, isn’t it? To be driven to such a state? How unbearable it must be, that you were driven so _low._ You must have felt worse than underfae, away from your brother, down there in the dark.’

Augus dug the claws of his other hand into Gwyn’s neck and blood spilled, pulsed down into his clothing. It was a heavy flow and Augus could feel it, the artery just beneath his claw.

‘I swear it, I will _end_ you.’

‘Then do it,’ Gwyn said quietly. ‘End me. Do it now, Augus. Show me.’

Gwyn watched him closely, then pressed his neck forward into Augus’ claws. Augus yanked his hand back as he felt claw-tips scrape the wall of his artery, growling in frustration when he realised that Gwyn had called his bluff. He slapped Gwyn’s face with the tips of his fingers, leaving four lines of red across his cheek and eyebrow, blood welling and dripping into his eye. Gwyn didn’t _move._ He didn’t even seem to care.

‘You’ll just let me hurt you then, like Efnisien? I _know_ what he did to you. I _know_ why you’re inured to torture.’

‘Yes,’ Gwyn said, unflinching. ‘So do I.’

Augus could hear his own uneven breathing. The whole room smelled of blood, thick and strong in the back of his throat. It was still spilling from Gwyn’s neck, down his face, across his shoulder.

‘I wasted your shower,’ Augus said, grinning.

‘I don’t mind,’ Gwyn replied, with a steadiness so infuriating Augus actually reached out and slowly dug his fingernails into Gwyn’s arm. He knew it was petty, but he wanted that pettiness. Blood spilled once more, Gwyn didn’t even flinch. He simply took it like it was his due. Augus wondered if Gwyn could just lock his ability to feel pain away.

Did that mean that when he showed it to Augus, he was choosing to?

‘Do you not feel this?’ Augus said. He reached out with his other hand and pressed two fingers to Gwyn’s neck to measure his pulse. Gwyn pulled away, but Augus knelt up and ignored him. His pulse was racing, laboured. ‘You do. I am hurting you.’

‘Yes,’ Gwyn said, and for the first time his expression flickered away from its steadiness to something else. There and gone again.

Augus withdrew his claws from Gwyn’s arm and swallowed. He kept his fingers on the pulse point at his neck.

Here Gwyn was again, accepting brutality with ease. Augus bared his teeth, it was infuriating.

‘I don’t regret that those fae died,’ Augus said. ‘I didn’t know them, they were nothing to me. I regret Ash. I regret the Raven Prince. And really that is more than enough for any Unseelie fae because we weren’t _meant_ to have regrets. I’m not sorry you had to put down those fae that went mad. I’m not apologising for that. Do you expect me to be some morally upstanding Seelie citizen? Your family don’t even fit the bill.’

‘They do not,’ Gwyn agreed, and pressed his fingers to his neck. His hand was shaking as he pressed the flat of his hand against the claw marks. One side of his face looked like it was crying a steady flow of red tears. Blood gathered at his jaw and dripped off. ‘I only wanted to know.’

Augus was dissatisfied. The whole encounter felt anticlimactic. He’d expected a sermon. Surely the King who put him in a cell for six months would want that much at least. Augus blinked when he realised how much Gwyn was bleeding. Each of his strikes had been hard and deep.

‘What do you regret?’ Augus said. Gwyn’s eyes narrowed as though he had no right to the question. Augus smirked. ‘Do you regret that your father forced you to kill your friend, Mafydd?’

Gwyn’s eyes widened in shock, his pupils dilated. He stood and walked out of the room so quickly that Augus was still in the process of standing upright by the time Gwyn had left.

‘I thought it was a fair question!’ Augus called after him, shaking blood off his fingertips.

He got no response.

*

He saw nothing of Gwyn for two days, but could pick up his scent, knew Gwyn was avoiding him.

On the third day Gwyn must have been willing to be found, or perhaps he’d forgotten what he was avoiding Augus over – _doubtful –_ and Augus found him in a room he’d never seen before, and he thought he had _combed_ the palatial rooms. It was in the inner circles, between Gwyn’s primary bedroom, and a storage room that was once a bedroom. Another door had appeared, this one made from heavy, unsealed oak.

Augus stepped into a room that was not a room at all.

He stared up at the open sky, amazed. The space was huge. There was the sound and scent of fresh, running water. A river bubbling to the left. Large oaks heavy with leaves were waving the tips of their branches as a brisk breeze whisked through the sky. He could hear the songs of birds he didn’t recognise, saw a family of large, violet squirrels chase each other up and down a tree trunk before disappearing into a hollow. A small, red fox watched him and whirled away with a flash of its tail.

The grass was easily crushed under his boots, the ground itself soft enough to give as he walked on it. He saw outcrops of granite as he made his way down a thin forest path. It was almost exactly like stepping into a forest clearing, except that it _felt_ like the Seelie Court. He was astounded that Gwyn had let him into his bedroom, before showing him _this_. He wondered how many other spaces like this Gwyn had created, exactly how much of the forest he had invited into his home.

He found Gwyn leaning against a sloped boulder of granite. His eyes were closed, but as Gwyn was aware of everyone who approached him – except, it turned out, when he was map-making – Augus didn’t bother keeping his steps soft. He knelt down, surprised to find the ground quite dry. He crouched back on his ankles and watched him.

‘I made this when I first received the Kingdom,’ Gwyn said, opening his eyes and looking ahead to a small, glimmering pool of water, violet and blue fish circling within. ‘But I soon stopped using it, and simply went to forests instead.’

‘Because it reeks of the Seelie?’ Augus said, and Gwyn grimaced.

‘Is that what it is? It’s always felt off-balance here. I had simply assumed it was because I didn’t want to be King, and before that, because Crielle or Lludd were almost always with me at the Court.’

Augus folded his arms in his lap, let his hands go limp. He couldn’t see any signs of the wounds he’d made on Gwyn’s face or neck, he wondered how long they’d taken to heal.

‘You didn’t know?’ Augus said. ‘The energy of the Seelie Court is meant to be abrasive towards Unseelie fae. And vice versa. So that we can visit each other’s Courts, but never stay.’

‘I’ve never visited the Unseelie Court,’ Gwyn said, sighing. ‘My father never let me.’

‘Your father is _dead,’_ Augus said, unable to stop shock from hardening his voice. ‘And you...you can make as many escapes for yourself in here as you like, but if it’s in the Seelie Court, it will still _feel_ like the Seelie Court.’

Gwyn didn’t say anything in response to that, Augus sighed.

‘You must have known that the Seelie Court is meant to be off-putting to Unseelie. Of course you know that. It’s in the literature. You would have read it.’

‘Yes,’ Gwyn acknowledged. ‘But I started to forget, sometimes, Augus. The best defence is forgetting. Not saying it for so long, pretending to be the opposite, and the Unseelie became a ‘them.’ I just never became very good at being an ‘us.’’

Augus nodded, it made sense. The best defence is not even knowing you have to lie, because you believe it so thoroughly. And after so long in the company of Seelie fae, it would have become easy to believe.

‘This place reminds me of the clearing our lake was in during the summer,’ Augus said, looking around. ‘Spring and summer were always the happiest times for us. Winter and autumn were good but...harder. It was always harder to find food.’

Gwyn looked at him, curious.

‘What was it like? Everyone knows that you changed for Ash, to allow him to live with you. That you forced yourself into human-form early?’

Augus laughed.

‘Very early. Ash did it even earlier. As to what it was like? It was...confusing at first, looking after Ash. I had no idea what I was doing and I was very young. We’re not meant to have brothers. Each...incarnation of the Each Uisge and the Glashtyn before me – as far as I know – were rivals.’

Gwyn shifted so that he was facing Augus.

‘You were underfae,’ Gwyn said.

Augus nodded, and then leaned against another boulder himself. It was sun-warmed. That was the one thing that the Seelie Court had going for it, the constant warmth and sunlight. Even when it was only showing its twilight, it was a twilight that let in weak rays of the sun, not the constellations of the Unseelie Court.

‘Do you imagine it was terrible? It wasn’t. We were free to do what we liked, and we liked the lake, we liked each other’s company, we liked foraging for food and tending the land. And he was good for me, I was more willing to try new things because of him.’

Augus paused for a moment, and then squeezed his eyes shut. Talking about this was harder than he thought it would be, and he drew one of his legs up to his chest, wrapped an arm around it. Gwyn noticed, didn’t say anything.

‘You’ve never...offered to let me see him.’

‘I haven’t.’

Augus’ hand tightened around his knee.

‘Augus, your position here is precarious. They already think I’m far too soft on you, even as they imagine that I torment and torture you at my leisure. If I let Ash visit you, the rumour would spread like wildfire. And I fear that Ash would become determined to break you out. And I think you and I both know that this could be dangerous for him.’

‘You can’t tell me that you’re barring my brother from seeing me out of the goodness of your heart. For what, my _safety?’_

Gwyn looked up into the sky.

‘You can believe what you wish, Augus. Will you tell me more of what it was like, growing up with him? Did you fight often?’

‘No. We quarrelled over small things, often, in the way that families can. But it was very rare that we seriously fought. He was easy company. I suppose you have no idea what that’s like, do you? Did you fight often, with your family?’

Gwyn turned to Augus, a suspicious look on his face. Seconds ticked by and Gwyn seemed to give up the suspicion for something more pensive.

‘No.’

‘Of course,’ Augus said, ‘you wouldn’t have been allowed.’

Gwyn cleared his throat and then his mouth tipped up in a cynical half-smile.

‘I honestly thought that because you were underfae, growing up alone, things would have been...terrible for you.’

‘I wasn’t alone,’ Augus said quietly. ‘I was only alone in those first five years. When Ash came, I wasn’t alone anymore.’

‘You named him, didn’t you? After fire or the tree?’

Augus smiled, because these were conversations he didn’t get to have with many people. He always enjoyed talking about Ash.

‘Actually, after the prickly ash, the tree. For the longest time I simply called him brother, but when he was two, and I was seven, I noticed that he became fascinated with moths and butterflies for a short time, and his favourite was a very drab moth, wings the colour of salt and pepper spilled on a table. The engrailed moth. And of course they feed on the prickly ash. And I told him that, because I was always telling him things that I’d learned, just as he was always asking me questions. And he fell in love with the word – he couldn’t pronounce engrailed, so he simply said ‘ash’ all the time. I liked the way it sounded, and he already had a connection with the tree. I used it for his colic when he forced himself to change into human-form too early. He was a colicky child. Prickly ash was the only thing that worked.’

Gwyn had a strange, wistful expression on his face.

‘Do you remember how you chose your own name? The past incarnations of the Each Uisge were simply ‘Each Uisge.’’

‘I don’t remember how I chose it,’ Augus said. It was one of the memories that had been stolen from him by the Nightmare King. After the fourth possession, his memory of how he came by his name was simply gone. Augus had no idea what else they’d taken, only that now he had a name he had chosen for himself, and he would never remember why.

‘I like the name,’ Gwyn said. ‘I’ve always liked it.’

For some reason, that made Augus unaccountably pleased, and he relaxed further against the granite, letting thoughts of the Nightmare King drift away from him, rotten leaves on clear water.

‘You were happy,’ Gwyn said.

‘Did it not occur to you? Because we are the lowest of classes? Even some beast fae are higher than us in healing capacity and lifespan, aren’t they?’

‘You say ‘we,’ but you aren’t underfae anymore.’

‘There’s a saying amongst the underfae, that if you are born underfae, you are always underfae, and that any other class you find yourself wearing is simply a fancier cloak. And now that I have been Capital and Outer Court and Court and Inner Court and King, I find that is summarily true. There are instincts you cannot shake. Fear of losing your home. Fear of your territory being encroached upon. The instinct to tend all wounds and heal all infections. An awareness of your mortality even when it is extended. It is simply harder to take things for granted.’

Gwyn made a small sound of acknowledgement.

‘But you were happy?’

‘Growing up with Ash?’ Augus nodded. ‘I was very happy. It was all I ever wanted for myself and it was all I ever aspired to in the beginning. My home. My clients. Ash visiting and staying sometimes. There is pleasure in the small things.’

Gwyn didn’t say anything for some time, and Augus busied himself with shredding fallen oak leaves. His claws were a perfect sharpness for it, and soon he had a messy pyramid of leaf pieces.

‘Tell me about Mafydd,’ Augus said. Predictably, Gwyn tensed.

‘I don’t talk about it,’ Gwyn said. He looked fixedly at a point on the ground.

‘I know,’ Augus said. ‘I doubt you’ve ever talked about it. About him. That’s why I’m asking.’

‘You already have enough to use against me,’ Gwyn said, and Augus grimaced. Disagreement rose within him, a desire to defend himself. For hadn’t he made a blood-oath specifically indicating that he _wouldn’t_ use Gwyn’s alignment against him? But he forced all of that away.

‘Then give me this too. I already have enough to ruin you with, this isn’t going to matter.’

Gwyn looked at him and frowned, searching his expression for something. Then he drew his knees up to his chest and hunched.

‘You said he was your friend,’ Augus said.

‘He was more than that,’ Gwyn said, reluctantly.

_Oh, but of course. Because if this story is going to be tragic, let it be as tragic as possible._

‘Let me guess, he was your first? How old were you?’

Gwyn flushed, a delicate shade of pink crawling up his neck and settling on his cheeks.

‘Sixteen.’

‘You...’ Augus was dumbfounded. Sixteen? On the very cusp of being a teenager, with another two hundred years of adolescence ahead of him. Not just young, but _so_ young. A child.

‘I wanted it,’ Gwyn said, and Augus shook his head.

‘You were _sixteen.’_

‘He was also a teenager,’ Gwyn said.

‘You weren’t a teenager, you were _sixteen.’_

‘Honestly, Augus, your ethics surface at the strangest of times.’

Augus rolled his eyes, because it wasn’t like he would be the only one to react that way. He knew fae parents that would murder anyone who touched a sixteen year old. Seelie _and_ Unseelie.

‘How did you meet him?’

‘He...was the son of one of my father’s comrades. He visited for a week and a half. He...didn’t return home with his father.’

Rolled in the hay after only a week of knowing him, and Augus felt a flush of anger move through him. Sixteen and fucked by some stranger in less than a week smacked of someone taking advantage of someone else’s desperation. He kept his opinion to himself – for now – because it was obvious that Gwyn felt very differently about the matter. But he couldn’t see any other way that would have happened.

_And didn’t return with his father...only a week and a half before the blood-oath was broken._

Sadness stole through him, he closed his eyes at the weight of it.

‘And he fucked you?’

Gwyn’s flush became darker.

‘He, we...got along. He was also interested in the bow and arrow, and he was a better archer than I was with the longbow. He was very good. We stole away from the estate, and we kissed in an orange grove...’

Gwyn paused and shook his head slightly.

‘I didn’t know anything about anything, when I met him.’

‘Let me remind you that you were-’

‘Be quiet,’ Gwyn said, his voice becoming briefly curt. ‘He taught me things about myself that I didn’t know. That I was...that I liked to submit to the care of others. That I could enjoy my body like that, which was odd and eye-opening all at once. He was kind to me, Augus. He didn’t like my father, he saw a truth in my family that no one else had ever pointed out to me. It was frightening being around him sometimes. He was a Reader. His powers were dormant, but the Reading activated around me, and he pushed. He was the first person who had ever pushed, who ever realised there was more to know.’

‘Given your reputation of being a dominating, brutal fuck in the battlefield, in the _bedroom,_ did you ever submit to anyone else until you met me?’

‘No. Never.’

‘And after? Did you ever submit to anyone else after you met me?’

Gwyn swallowed and shook his head.

‘No. There were times I took up with too much ale or alcohol and wandered back into camp from my own tent or the forest, after a battle, and...let myself be taken. But I didn’t do that with an eye to...recapturing those experiences. I didn’t know what that was. I hardly ever did it.’

There were questions bubbling up in his mind. About Mafydd, about what it was like for Gwyn to wake up hung over and sore and alone and not know why, about why he did the things he did and why he didn’t allow himself to submit to anyone except Mafydd or Augus. He wished he could open Gwyn’s mind and crawl in, dig around. He wished Gwyn responded to compulsions, which made everything easier. But very little about Gwyn was easy.

‘Tell me more about Mafydd,’ Augus said, and Gwyn nodded, then didn’t say anything for several minutes.

‘He had pale eyes. Like mine, but brown. I only see that colour rarely, and it’s very memorable. Apparently not that uncommon in strong Readers, but I didn’t know that at the time. He was...very forward.’

Gwyn laughed as though remembering some private joke, and Augus was struck by the openness on his face, the depth of affection.

Regardless of Augus’ own thoughts on the matter, Gwyn had cared for him, even loved him.

‘When you asked me where I learnt...how to take you all the way in my throat like that...’ Augus felt that Gwyn’s awkwardness was sometimes another person in the room. ‘He taught me. He always, he _always_ said I didn’t have to do anything that I didn’t want to. But I trusted him, and I did almost everything he asked. He was friendly and gregarious and he knew how to play to my parents as much as my parents let themselves be charmed by anyone. He seemed to like me.’

_Seemed to._

Augus ran his teeth over his bottom lip, his eyes wandered through the forest, searching out the shadows behind tree trunks, a glimpse of a fox watching the both of them speak. The birdsong around them sounded cheerful, warming. But he did not feel particularly warm.

‘And he didn’t return home with his father. What happened? I know the very basics, but what happened?’

Time passed, and Augus’ lips thinned when he realised that Gwyn’s expression had gone blank. He wasn’t gathering his thoughts, they’d disappeared from his mind. It was very much like watching him disappear when he’d been tied to the cross. It was disconcerting to see it happen as the result of one question, when Gwyn could have easily teleported or walked away. He wasn’t trapped, and yet...

Augus wished he couldn’t imagine it, but he could. He knew fae who were capable of convincing others to commit those sorts of crimes. Lludd’s centre was ruthlessness, Gwyn had no chance. Making him do it, not only a friend, but his first lover, someone he obviously cared for, that would have been damaging to anyone. But especially Gwyn, not permitted to be close to people, with a secret that was too heavy for anyone to bear.

‘Gwyn, you don’t have to answer the question,’ Augus said. ‘Come back.’

It took time after that. Augus made some passing observations about the landscape around them, he talked a little more about Ash, relating a few innocuous stories that still lit a fire of warmth in his heart. He waited between tales, watching Gwyn closely, waiting for signs that he was returning to the conversation. He was halfway through a story about foraging for chestnuts when Gwyn blinked back into awareness and turned to him, confused.

‘You lost track of time,’ Augus explained. ‘I have been listening to the sound of my own voice for about ten minutes.’

‘You do like the sound of your own voice,’ Gwyn said, and Augus would have been offended, except for the fact that Gwyn seemed to be trying to make a joke, and he couldn’t find it in himself to mind. Especially over something that was true.

‘What was it like? Your first time with him?’

Gwyn shifted, more time passed. Augus wondered if he’d speak of it at all. Augus knew he was pushing hard, but then...everything with Gwyn often counted as pushing hard.

‘It was in a stable,’ Gwyn said, and Augus laughed.

‘A _literal_ roll in the hay?’

‘That came later,’ Gwyn said, voice muffled against his hand as he pushed his face down towards his knees.

‘Did you _ever_ fuck in a bed?’ Augus said, incredulous, and Gwyn paused as though he’d never truly considered the question. His eyes widened.

‘Do you know, Augus, I don’t think I had sex in a bed until I was a soldier, the first time I let myself get drunk and taken by others. And I hardly remember those times. It was centuries, I believe. The first time with Mafydd was over a wooden bench in the stables. We had to be so careful, so hidden, because Lludd didn’t approve of us seeing each other as friends, let alone...what we were doing. Most of it was outdoors, away from the main estate.’

Augus had a terrible, wonderful idea. He stood up suddenly and held out his hand to Gwyn.

‘Come with me.’

Gwyn narrowed his eyes, but Augus only looked down at his hand and back to Gwyn.

‘I can make it an order, if you like.’

‘Now?’ Gwyn said, blinking at him with the kind of innocence that set off hungry, predatory appetites inside of Augus, that made him want to tie Gwyn up for weeks and see how much innocent was buried inside.

Gwyn took his hand and Augus tugged him upright, didn’t let go as they walked out of the forest room. It was a short walk down the corridor. Augus pushed upon a door on the left and closed it behind them both. One of Gwyn’s many spare bedrooms, a single bed pushed up against the wall that was clean but looked like it had never been slept in. And there, against a wood-panelled wall, a low wooden bench.

Gwyn followed Augus’ gaze and he froze. Augus reached up and started unbuttoning Gwyn’s shirt. Gwyn opened his mouth to say something, had to work several times to get sound out.

‘Augus, this is not a good idea. This-’

‘I like things that aren’t good ideas,’ Augus said, working his way down the buttons and knocking Gwyn’s hand away when it came up to stop him. Gwyn was staring at the bench, paralysed. Augus moved his shirt down his arms, tugged sleeves off his hands, then smoothed his palms over Gwyn’s chest from behind, touching the expanse of skin, feeling how warm he was. He moved his hands down Gwyn’s abdomen to his pants, found the fastening and undid the button, pushing his hands inside the warmth there and savouring it. He wasn’t touching his cock, not yet, that could wait.

‘Augus, I don’t think I want to do-’

‘But I do.’

Augus moved to Gwyn’s front and knelt before him, unlacing his boots. Gwyn stared at him, Augus could tell he was too shocked to step away. It wasn’t until Augus prompted him to lift his foot and step out of the boot itself that Gwyn seemed to come back to himself.

‘Are you jealous?’ Gwyn said with so much confusion laced through his voice that Augus looked up. He seemed so lost that Augus couldn’t even be offended.

‘Is jealousy the only reason I might want to do this?’

He tapped at Gwyn’s ankle until Gwyn raised his leg and Augus pulled the boot off, setting it aside. He made short work of the other, and then pulled Gwyn’s pants down the rest of the way, revealing him. If he had any interest in taking Gwyn into his mouth, now was a perfect time to do it. But that was one activity that still chafed at him, made him aware that even if dominance wasn’t his centre, it still lurked and turned within.

Augus slid both of his hands up the inside of Gwyn’s legs and stopped at the back of his knees, stroking the flesh there, marvelling at how soft it was. Gwyn made a small, thin sound that was confusion, distress. Augus withdrew his hands, stood and drew the small vial of lubricant out of his pocket.

‘I’ve learned that it’s best to never leave my room without it,’ Augus said, and Gwyn shook his head. He was processing things more slowly than usual. Augus pulled him towards the bench, Gwyn followed with a clumsy step.

‘What did Mafydd tell you to do? Bend over?’

Gwyn stared at the bench for a long moment, and then tore his eyes away and looked at Augus, mouth open just enough that Augus couldn’t help but reach up and drag his fingertips over his bottom lip. Gwyn’s breath fell in shallow bursts over his fingernails.

‘He asked me to put my arms on the bench, and rest my head on them,’ Gwyn’s voice came in stops and starts. He stepped away from the bench quickly, Augus caught his arm.

‘Anyone else would stop,’ Augus purred. ‘Anyone else would see this is doing a number on you. But I like this part.’

_‘Why?’_ Gwyn said, letting himself be tugged with some reluctance back towards Augus. When he was close enough, Augus slid one of his hands under his arm and around his side, drawing him closer, feeling the heat of him. He opened his nostrils and breathed in deep, smelling fear, iron, char.

‘Put your arms on the bench,’ Augus whispered. ‘Rest your head on them.’

Gwyn was shivering when he stepped away, looking at the bench like it would bite him. And Augus was unbuttoning his own shirt as Gwyn stared at it, curious to see how far Gwyn would let him take this. His eyebrows shot upwards in surprise when Gwyn lowered himself to his knees and bent towards it, resting his forearms on it. He didn’t rest his head on his arms though, keeping it up, looking down.

Augus knelt beside him, pressing a palm to his back, pushing at his lower spine. Gwyn tensed, and Augus stroked over the spot with a firm pressure until Gwyn’s spine bowed. Gwyn was trembling with increasing violence, his knees bent further until he was resting on his own ankles, and his head dropped to his arms. Augus could see individual curls of hair shaking.

He kept his hand on his lower back, stroked.

‘Talk to me,’ Augus said. ‘Do you miss him?’

_‘Yes,’_ Gwyn said. ‘I try not to think on him but I can’t help it, and it’s been worse ever since you found out I’m...that I am the way that I am.’

_Still can’t say it._ Augus grimaced.

‘Do you still love him?’ Augus said.

Gwyn didn’t say anything for a long time, and Augus kept one hand on Gwyn’s back, and with the other he placed his palm over the back of his head. It was a soothing gesture for waterhorses, but Augus had learned long ago that it could be a soothing gesture for most other fae as well.

‘It was infatuation,’ Gwyn said, finally. But he sounded unsure as he said it, and Augus didn’t believe for a second that he was looking at the result of some crush. Augus decided to let that go. He’d gotten what he wanted. That aching vulnerability, the knowledge that he could do almost whatever he wanted with it.

Gwyn shifted quickly, knelt upwards, reached towards the fastening of Augus’ pants and opened them roughly. Gwyn wouldn’t look at him, kept his head bowed down, and Augus stared at the top of his head in shock. He was even more surprised when Gwyn placed both of his hands around Augus’ hips and encouraged him to move so that he was leaning against the bench.

‘Please,’ Gwyn said, breathless. ‘Just...’

Gwyn jerked Augus’ pants down just enough to expose him, and then bent over his cock – still limp – and breathed onto it. Each breath hot and shallow. Augus had one hand on the back of his head. His heart pounded harder. He thought he knew what this was about.

‘Running away again?’ Augus said, and Gwyn whimpered.

‘Augus, please, I-’

‘Make it good,’ Augus ordered, and Gwyn shuddered. He surprised Augus by raising his head and pressing his open mouth to Augus’ abdomen. The inside of it was wet, warming his skin, an abundance of heat spilling over.

Gwyn rarely initiated _anything,_ and Augus hadn’t expected it now. He arched back against the bench, frowned. The ridge of the bench was already uncomfortable at his back.

‘Wait,’ Augus said.

He rose and sat on the bench. Gwyn automatically moved between his spread legs. And seeing that eagerness – no matter what was fuelling it or where it came from – made arousal pool and drip through him, and he let it go to where it wanted to go, beginning to harden. Gwyn noticed, but pressed his mouth back to Augus’ belly again, licking at the skin, pressing his lips against it, scraping gently with his teeth. What it lacked in direction, it made up for in enthusiasm.

Gwyn placed the flat of his hand against the underside of his ribs and his fingers curled. Augus reached down with his hand and carded fingers through his hair, then bent forwards as much as Gwyn’s mouth would allow, and let the back of his hand trail across Gwyn’s neck.

Gwyn paused, and then turned his face to the side so that his cheek was resting against Augus’ skin.

‘Choke me with it.’

Augus swallowed hard, for a moment he forgot to breathe.

_My, aren’t you interesting today?_

‘The angle is wrong,’ Augus said automatically.

‘Try,’ Gwyn said, and Augus laughed. He dragged Gwyn up by fisting two hands into his hair and stared at him hard before thrusting his tongue deeply into his mouth. He skated along the roof of it, before curling back and slicking along his tongue. He kept kissing him until Gwyn moaned. Augus withdrew, Gwyn’s lips already redder, more swollen.

‘No wonder you don’t talk to anyone about it. Not when your default response is to ask the nearest person to choke you with their cock. My, my, Gwyn, you’re not normally so bold. Go on then, if you need a distraction. I am your prisoner, it would only be my duty to provide you with one, after all.’

Gwyn was still trembling as he lowered his mouth down to Augus’ cock, and Augus clenched his teeth together, a mix of hunger and desire and shock tangling together. He pushed Gwyn’s mouth down, thrust up forcefully.

Gwyn choked immediately, struggled because it _was_ the wrong angle, and Augus had hit straight up against the back of his gag reflex. Gwyn pushed himself up and back, coughing hard, a hand over his mouth and his eyes watering already. He looked up at Augus, and Augus smiled down at the shocked, aroused look on his face. Gwyn was always so surprised that he enjoyed it so much.

‘Come back,’ Augus said. ‘I have more of that for you, if you want it.’

Gwyn was still coughing, his hand trailing from his mouth to his throat, shoulders moving up and down from the force of his breaths.

‘Didn’t you ask me? You said _please,’_ Augus said. ‘I live to be of service.’

Gwyn laughed then, incredulous, and Augus resisted the urge to smile at the sound of it.

And then Gwyn was returning of his own volition, bending back down over Augus’ cock, this time laving the head with his tongue, before placing his lips over it and sucking with a slow increase of pressure that made Augus tilt his head back into the wall, his toes curl.

‘You are _very_ good at this,’ Augus breathed. How the Wild Hunts would have been if he _had_ known this, dragging Gwyn aside – who more often than not was the one to capture and kill the White Stag – and forcing him to his knees, showing him that taking down the King of the Forest did not stop one from being taken in turn. Ever since he’d found this out about Gwyn, he cast his mind back to those Hunts and thought they would have been well-augmented by the addition of _this._

As Gwyn started to lower his head once more, Augus sighed.

‘I clearly owe that Mafydd of yours a debt of gratitude, wouldn’t you say?’

Gwyn reared off him, rage blazing across his features. In one motion, before Augus could duck out of grip, even as he started to laugh at his own daring, fingers dug hard into his throat and he found himself pressed back against the wall, pinned by a blue stare.

‘I will _not_ tolerate you sullying his memory! I will not!’

Augus choked, and Gwyn’s grip eased up just enough that he could rasp for air, that he could speak.

‘Does it sully his memory for me to acknowledge what he taught you? Is it so shameful to be on your knees before someone else?’

Gwyn let go, he looked confused again. And with his lips swollen and wet, his forehead creased, Augus thought he looked delectable.

‘You say,’ Augus coughed to clear his own throat, which ached, ‘that you never went to anyone else for it, even though you knew from the age of _sixteen_ that you enjoyed giving yourself over to others. Was it so shameful? Did your family frown upon it? Did they ever know? A boy taught you how to suck cock like a champion, did you think I was mocking him? I wasn’t.’

The stare Gwyn gave him was painful in its intensity. It was almost frightening how much Gwyn hung on his every word.

‘Why would I mock him, when I made my living from the truths you can find in pain, and sensuality, and _fucking?_ And didn’t he show you a truth about yourself? Many truths? Enough that you offered something _very_ profound in return?’

Gwyn’s eyes widened, and Augus leaned forwards, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck and drawing him back down again.

‘You _asked_ me for this,’ Augus said. Just before he pushed Gwyn down fully, he quickly shifted his hand, placed fingers under his chin, tipped his head back. ‘Have you changed your mind? You are allowed. It’s _permitted.’_

‘No,’ Gwyn said, voice shaky. ‘I asked you choke me, I meant it.’

Augus grinned, spread his legs wider.

‘I thought so.’

Gwyn took his time easing his mouth back around Augus’ cock, paying attention the underside, poking his tongue into the slit of him, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the side. And Augus was in no hurry, happy to let Gwyn follow his own instincts. Augus stroked his hand through Gwyn’s hair, messing it intentionally, untangling it again. It was during the second bout of untangling that Gwyn groaned, shivered.

‘You like that,’ Augus said.

Gwyn said nothing, non-committal as always about the things that gave him pleasure.

When Gwyn’s mouth opened around him, pressing down as far as possible and then bobbing upwards again, Augus sighed. He let his thoughts stop drifting, came back to his body and felt heat and the pull of Gwyn’s mouth, slick with spit. He felt two hands pressed at the inside of his thighs, and the way fingertips curled gently, nervously against his skin over and over again. Augus placed one of his hands over Gwyn’s and he stilled the movements immediately.

It was then that Augus’ grip in his hair turned fierce and he thrust up hard, groaning at the stricture at the back of Gwyn’s throat. Even with the angle being wrong, it felt incredible. Gwyn was choking again, tried to move backwards, but Augus kept him down and lifted his other hand, trailing it around the cervical vertebrae at the top of his neck, threatening a pressure point that would keep him immobilised. Gwyn whimpered, stopped moving.

‘Good,’ Augus said. ‘Catch your breath and finish me.’

Gwyn withdrew just enough that he could catch his breath and began again, and when Augus deliberately made things hard for him, choking him, hurting him, Gwyn began to make noises that weren’t only pained, but shot through with a thick arousal.

‘Touch yourself.’

Gwyn shook his head when the tip of Augus was in his mouth. Augus smirked.

‘You don’t really do that at all, do you? Not even now? Is it shyness? I wouldn’t even be able to see you doing it. The angle is all wrong. Though I would _like_ to see you doing it.’

Gwyn started to move backwards, like he wanted to say something, and Augus chose that moment to push Gwyn back down, wedge the head of his cock into the tight space at the back of his throat. Augus moaned softly, then repeated the movement again and again, noticing that Gwyn was letting him and taking full advantage. Sparks were flying in his abdomen, were moving through the length of him. He sped up, shifting on the bench, using the balls of his feet as leverage.

He could wait, but he didn’t want to wait. He wanted something new to water down their last experience, so it wasn’t so fresh in his mind. And this, with Gwyn groaning hungrily between the choking he couldn’t suppress was perfect.

Augus pressed the back of his head hard against the wall, canted his hips up, hummed in the back of his throat and waited, simply waited, because it would only take a little-

His release found him, pressed up against the tight space of the back of Gwyn’s throat with no possibility of sinking any deeper, because the angle really _was_ wrong. Augus had enough presence of mind to withdraw slightly, to make sure he spilled his release directly onto Gwyn’s tongue. Gwyn made short, hungry noises around him, swallowing him down with an eagerness that made everything more vivid. And when he was done, Gwyn licked him until Augus was too sensitive and had to withdraw.

Gwyn kept his head bowed, was almost clinging onto Augus’ legs now. He was aroused, _close._ Augus pushed him back onto the floorboards, kneeling between his legs and looking at how flushed he was, at the sheen of sweat that marked him.

‘Ask me,’ Augus said. ‘Tell me what you want, or I’ll leave you here unfinished.’

Gwyn’s eyes squeezed shut, and then in a gesture that Augus recognised, he threw his forearm over his eyes, hid them from view.

_‘Ask_ me.’

‘Augus, _please,’_ Gwyn said, his voice rough and breaking.

‘No, not _beg._ Ask.’

But Gwyn didn’t ask, his lips pressed together, then thinned. And Augus narrowed his eyes and waited, looking down at how hard Gwyn was, at the precome already leaking from him in clear, glistening strands. He shook his head.

‘No?’ Augus said. ‘Alright.’

He stood, stepped over him, walked towards the door, feeling his heart pound harder as he waited to see if Gwyn would say anything. He had his hand on the doorknob, convinced that Gwyn would say _something._ And then he was opening the door, not looking back, tucking himself into his pants. He closed the door behind him, walked several steps away, waited.

He didn’t wait for very long, hadn’t planned to. He’d found out what he needed to know, and in amongst that sated energy inside of him, the sadness returned.

He walked back into the room quickly, and Gwyn froze in the process of reaching for his shirt. He looked at Augus like he had no idea what was going on.

‘You’re an idiot,’ Augus said quietly, kneeling over him and wrapping his hand around Gwyn’s cock, which was already not as hard. A few strokes fixed that, and Gwyn slumped back down to the ground, staring at him in surprise. ‘You can’t help it, I know that. Relax, Gwyn. Just...’

Augus reached out with his other hand, and in counterpoint to the fast, firm grip he had on Gwyn’s cock, he smoothed his fingers down the side of his face.

‘You can relax.’

Gwyn did the opposite, his orgasm hitting him hard as Augus cupped his cheek. His legs bent and his feet pressed down into the floorboards, his abdomen tensed, his spine arched and his breath caught in his lungs before stuttering out in heavy exhales, eyes closed. Gwyn was still dazed and gathering his breath when Augus let go of him and reached for Gwyn’s shirt, wiping his hand on it fastidiously. He had no compunction ruining Gwyn’s clothing, especially not with his come.

He folded his legs by Gwyn’s head and encouraged him to rest his head in the bowl of his legs, smoothing his hair back from his forehead. Gwyn had his eyes closed, he radiated a viscid heat, his lips were swollen. Augus reached down and touched them lightly, stroked them a few times, and he smiled faintly when Gwyn’s mouth opened and he licked at them.

Eventually Augus pulled back and smoothed his palm over Gwyn’s shoulder. Time passed, and Gwyn didn’t move, his breathing evening out like he was sleeping. Augus knew better.

‘No one knows this about me,’ Gwyn said, voice weak.

Augus had no idea exactly what Gwyn was talking about, but whether it was Mafydd, or the fact of Gwyn’s submission, or his heavy masochistic streak, or even just his painful inability to ask for what he truly wanted when pain wasn’t involved...it was all true.

‘I know,’ Augus said.

‘I’m not supposed to be like this. I’m a King.’

‘And before that I imagine you told yourself that you were a General, and then a soldier, and then...what, that you were their child and you were supposed to be different?’

Gwyn’s eyes squeezed tightly together for several seconds, pained. Augus traced over the crinkles in his skin until he relaxed again.

‘I’ve said it to Ash, and I will say it to you; you are who you are, Gwyn. Whether you can accept it or not, that is who you are meant to be, and you can fight it, or you can learn to know it and understand it. Do you think my brother was happy when he learned that he was supposed to eat flesh? Let alone humans, whom he still has a fondness for? We are all confronted by things in ourselves that we do not like or wish to know.’

Augus leaned down until his hair was touching Gwyn’s hair, until he was as close as he could get without straining himself.

‘What you are may terrify you, but it doesn’t scare me, Gwyn ap Nudd.’

Gwyn shivered, didn’t say anything. Augus had nothing else he wanted to say, contenting himself with stroking Gwyn’s hair, touching his skin, until he felt imbued with a rare warmth. His thoughts returned to the necessity of getting Gwyn out of the Seelie Court, but with no idea as to how to free _himself,_ he was left with very little to work with. If he could get Gwyn out of the Seelie Court, perhaps that might be the way he could begin to square off that debt, offer a life saved for a life saved.

Because Augus was convinced that one day it would happen – not today, not tomorrow, perhaps not for a century; but the Seelie Court would be the death of Gwyn, of that he was certain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, 'Compulsion:'
> 
> ‘What is it, in your head?’ Augus said. He smoothed his palm up over Gwyn’s abdomen, watching the muscles twitch in response. ‘Is it a wall? A saying? How do you keep the compulsions out?’


	27. Compulsion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New tags for this chapter: compulsions, mind control, painplay (and really one of the new tags for this chapter should be: wow Augus is pretty much a douche).
> 
> While not tagged for, we revisit disturbing themes in this chapter. In this case: hunting humans as food. While the death/kill is not shown, it's very obvious what has happened, so be warned.
> 
> THANK YOU to everyone who is commenting and reading. I know it's hard to keep offering feedback on long multi-chaptered stories like this, and I just really cherish those of you who are offering what you can, when you can, whether it's once or multiple times or every chapter. Just...truly - thanks.
> 
> On a side note, I wrote and put up an Augus/Ash AU recently, [you can find it here if you're interested.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1046268)

Hunting humans was not easy. Gwyn complicated things with his own need to make sure he wasn’t taking anyone who had children. It didn’t help that he didn’t have the ability to compel their minds from them. Even with his glamour, even with a charm he’d made for the purpose of lulling them, he could smell their fear. He’d never been the sort of fae to inspire trust and calm in humans. Even with his dra’ocht, he was almost certain it made him simply like more of a righteous soldier than anything else.

The charm he’d made was a simple thing. He’d realised his ability to make charms when he was a few decades old. His first was something he made for himself on a superstitious whim, heading into one of the first truly frightening and threatening battles of his life. In the end, he’d had several bones broken and nearly lost a limb, but he’d survived. He found out later from a Mage that the charm had been imbued with a measure of actual, clumsy power. It was then he learned he had an aptitude for magic. The Mage had asked him to train it up, Gwyn had refused.

He tried not to overuse his ability to make charms, but when he saw items that piqued his interest – a coil of vine, a piece of root, a blue metal stone – he would secrete them away in drawers and around his palatial rooms, saving them for when he might have need to construct something. His craft was rough, his charms looked useless, but were effective. He didn’t push his luck with them. He knew from research that too many charms tempted poor fortune. So when he made them, he usually only made them for others or with others in mind. The one he’d made to charm humans to calm so that he could question them and find someone suitable for Augus, was a rough, green thing, made of twisted up leaves and a single piece of long field grass.

The first two humans he’d had to release. He found it hard to predict the ages of humans, they’d looked too young to have offspring, but it turned out they both did. Now he found himself before a young male. He’d activated the charm, practically dripped with glamour, discovered that he had no offspring, could tell that he lived healthily, that he was fit and well. He looked around to make sure no one was watching, knowing the glamour would shield him from the artificial lenses of humans, and dissolved them both into light.

Augus was waiting for him by the lake, as Gwyn had asked him to. He didn’t want to drag a human around the palatial-rooms, the innate glamour and power of the Seelie Court was rough on any human that visited. As soon as they touched down by the lake, the man was reeling away, gasping with fear again. He looked around wildly, couldn’t help but sense the magic, it ate at him. Gwyn swallowed. Hunting humans didn’t make him uncomfortable, but _this_ did.

Augus stared with avid, bright eyes. He didn’t tear his eyes away from the man. His chest began heaving.

‘Compel him to calm,’ Gwyn ordered.

_‘Calm down,’_ Augus said, his voice hard. As the man shuddered to sudden, preternatural calm, Augus turned to Gwyn and grinned toothily. ‘For now.’

Gwyn shivered. Augus’ teeth were already sharper, his hands were tensing so that his fingers were positioned to best make use of his claws. Even his shoulders spread wider and his stance shifted. Gwyn could smell the man’s fear in the room, waning now. But he could scent the sharp loam of Augus’ appetite.

‘Is he suitable?’ Gwyn said.

Augus growled. The sound was so deep that Gwyn felt it reverberate through his entire body, for several seconds he was paralysed. It reminded him of the roars that some lion shifters gave to immobilise their prey.

A moment later the man whimpered in fear, compulsion broken, the growl returning him back to terror. He stared at Gwyn in mute appeal, deciding that of the two creatures in the room, Gwyn was the preferable.

Gwyn hardened himself to what was about to happen, knowing that he would owe the humans a debt for this, and he would pay it when the time came.

‘Make it quick,’ Gwyn said. He teleported away, leaving Augus to his hunger and his prey.

It disturbed him – more than anything – that Augus’ hungry gaze, his predatory growl had sent a frightened, desperate thrill through his own blood. It disturbed him that he liked it.

*

He came by the lake twelve hours later and saw the shape of a perfect, shiny, ruddy-red liver resting on the river bank. He had the trows come and remove it. He still couldn’t look upon liver without remembering what he’d done and he spent the rest of the evening pensive and uncertain. He was grateful that Augus had obviously fed, but more aware than ever that he had crossed a threshold and could never return by it again. He could not unmake all the decisions he’d made that had led him to this point, and he no longer even had the will to want to.

He wanted Augus in his palatial-rooms. He wanted him well and fed. It was likely all some terrible long game of Augus’, but the more time passed that Augus seemed civil and sane, the more Gwyn hoped that Augus was both of these things. Even when Augus betrayed him, he could do it from a vantage point of sanity and perhaps get something of a life back for himself one day.

Gwyn went by the lake three days later. Augus had still not emerged. Gwyn didn’t know how long he needed to digest his food, couldn’t find reliable information about it, and besides, Augus didn’t live like a normal predatory waterhorse. He and Ash had both forced themselves away from the natural law of things so they could have each other.

On the fifth day, Augus found him in a dim room where Gwyn dried long pieces of elm wood for future longbows that he made for himself and some of his soldiers. Gwyn was checking the state of the long blocks, running his fingers along the grain, when his skin prickled. He turned quickly.

Augus was dripping wet, naked, looked nothing like the aristocratic fae he was most of the time. His eyes practically glowed.

‘Get out,’ Gwyn said, advancing upon him. ‘I can’t have damp in this room.’

But secretly, even as Augus backed up with the slow deliberation of someone who was still wanting to hunt, Gwyn was pleased. Augus looked _well._ There was a glossy sheen to his mane, it looked thicker than ever. He looked fitter, his body having gained more pronounced musculature even in only a few days.

'Tell me,’ Augus said, his voice even softer than usual, far more sinister. ‘What’s the appropriate way to thank someone for procuring a meal of that quality? Shall I fuck you?’

Gwyn’s mouth went dry and Augus placed a damp hand on his sleeve, drawing him out into the hall, closing the door and pushing Gwyn against it.

‘Later, perhaps,’ Augus said.

‘Later?’

‘Yes, later. I have plans for you. But I need to rest. And I would like some clothing. I believe I frightened several of your trows.’

Augus chuckled.

‘I didn’t, actually. The trows don’t care about clothing.’

‘No, they don’t,’ Gwyn said, and reached up with his other hand, touched Augus’ hair. It was a great deal coarser than before, and when he drew his hand away, droplets of water clung to his skin, cold and beading. Augus stepped away and squeezed excess water out of his hair, and then shook his fingers. Gwyn was sprayed with several drops, pressed his hand to them where they’d landed on his shirt. Augus noticed, didn’t say anything.

‘Was...so he was alright?’ Gwyn said.

‘You’ve missed your calling,’ Augus said, starting to walk away. ‘When you retire, perhaps you could move into procurement.’

It was the last thing he said before he left.

Gwyn felt a small flush of warmth at the praise. He rubbed his fingers together, smearing the water,  then raised his fingertips to his nose. He could smell the lake, he could smell how clean the water was. The damp water that exuded from a waterhorse’s scalp was filtered and pure, and Gwyn inhaled deeply before wiping his hands on his pants and realising he’d have to change. The drying room really couldn’t have _any_ damp in it, and he’d have to dry the room back out again. He couldn’t go in while his clothing was wet.

He walked in the opposite direction, alert to Augus’ presence, aware of a faint pain in his chest that he couldn’t shake.

*

Two days later, Gwyn was practicing his own stealth skills, walking silently down a long corridor towards the trow’s quarters. He passed one of the many textile rooms, where the trows looked after clothing, towels, fabric, sheets and blankets and his eyes widened when he saw Augus carefully tending to his own clothing. He was on his own, not a trow in sight.

Augus didn’t notice him as he hung two shirts, and Gwyn kept on towards the trow’s quarters. It was odd seeing him do domestic things. Especially things he didn’t really associate with Augus. It never occurred to him that Augus might want to look after his own clothing.

But then he was captive, maybe he liked to control what he could.

Gwyn sighed, ducked his head and slipped into the low-ceilinged central room of the trows, watching as they all melted away from view. Normally they stayed nearby to make sure Gwyn had everything he needed, but this was different. He slipped several small ingots of silver out of his pocket and stacked them on a counter, along with a piece of parchment that was a general missive. Within it were two codes to hidden locations of a great deal more silver.

Since the trows valued silver so much more if it was stolen, Gwyn had been placing large amounts of silver in places throughout the fae kingdom for some time, and then simply coded their locations into letters. The trows had to work to decode the letters, and then they could all pretend that Gwyn never intended for them to have the silver and the trows could pretend they had stolen it.

It worked well for everyone.

He slipped back out again, employing stealth again to silently make his way down the corridors. It was much easier now that he didn’t have to worry about stopping the silver from clinking in his pocket.

And then he heard something he almost never heard within his own palace.

_Singing._

He froze, his ears strained towards the sound. His mouth dropped open. _Augus?_

He crept closer, holding his breath, then leaned against the wall as though he could press through it and tumble through, get even closer to what he was hearing.

For Augus was singing softly to himself in a sweet, melodious voice. It wasn’t strident or striking, but the sort of voice that shaped lullabies and gentle, earnest love songs. For Augus had always been soft-spoken – his cutting comments were all the more shocking for it – and his singing voice was an even shyer version of that. But it was perfect for what it was, and he shaped all of the words with care, singing as though he had always loved to sing, even though Gwyn had never known this about him, never even imagined it could be possible.

The dull pain in his heart became a sharp, brutal twist and he pressed his lips closed around the agony of it, pressing his fists into his chest, feeling the fast, erratic thudding of his heart. His eyes squeezed shut, and each line of the ballad that Augus laid out into the world made everything worse. If he didn’t know better, he’d say that Augus was putting some sort of offensive magic into his singing.

But he did know better.

_You did it. You went and fell in love with him. You – of all people – went and fell in love with a waterhorse that is going to betray you, and now it’s too late to do a thing about it._

His eyes burned and he pressed his thumb and forefinger up to them, pressing in, breathing in slowly, forcing himself to exhale through the terrible mass in his chest. It didn’t work, he doubled over, felt as though something in his sternum had cracked open, that he was bleeding into his chest cavity. He knew what that felt like. He had experienced it before. It was definitely comparable.

Augus kept singing in that gentle, _lovely_ voice and Gwyn grimaced because, no, he didn’t want _this._ He hadn’t wanted _this._

Along the back of it came the knowledge that he _had_ to get Augus out of the Seelie Court. Not just as a speculative idea, not just as something he knew should happen some amorphous day in the future. He had to work on it, he had to make sure it happened in his lifetime, within the year if possible.

That was what he did, wasn’t it?

Liberated the lost.

Gwyn forced himself upright and crept away before Augus finished his song, beginning to gasp as soon as he was out of earshot. He staggered down a long corridor into a small storage room and fell upon a bench, shuddering out heavy sobs that ripped at his own throat. He pressed a hand into his own mouth and shook his head at himself, trying to get himself under control.

Augus wouldn’t survive the Seelie Court. Someone would find a way to bypass Gwyn’s protection, and Augus would end up slaughtered as he nearly did the time he was discovered by Gwyn’s own soldiers. Gwyn didn’t care about the Seelie version of right and wrong, his justice centre was so far away from him he could no longer hear it. Instead, a feral beat inside of his chest, a wild keening hanging at the base of his throat where he couldn’t utter it.

He would lose everything for Augus.

He couldn’t afford his own heart.

*

With the realisation that he loved Augus – even though he knew it was a futile love, and a destructive one at that – he found a focus, a task.

He’d been desperate for a task since he defeated the Nightmare King and Augus. And now he had one.

He spent hours in the libraries, poring over the oldest scrolls. He sat down on floors surrounded by scrolls and flaking parchments and torn documents. Books so old that they needed spells to preserve their pages or they would turn to dust in his hands. He could feel the magic crackling around them, was grateful, suddenly, for the decades he’d devoted to dead languages and alphabets.

He made notes as he went in a shorthand he’d devised for himself a long time ago, so that other fae couldn’t decipher his documents or strategies if he needed to jot them down. He altered the shorthand every few years, so that if – by chance – some cryptographer came to understand it, the code was already different.

But there was a paucity of information, as he thought there would be.

It wasn’t a matter of simply releasing Augus into the greater fae world. He could do that right now if he truly wanted to. He could speak the words – and indeed, they waited upon his tongue – and Augus would simply be free. He was King of the Seelie Fae, and with it came the immense power to lock and unlock the freedoms of others simply by _speaking_ it so. It was a power he never wanted again.

He needed to make sure Augus had a _chance._ The assassination attempts would come thick and strong and furious. And to that end Augus needed to be stronger in order to withstand them, or would need a greater array of powers at his disposal. Acquiring new powers that one didn’t have an innate ability for was almost impossible, and usually happened through trade with another fae who could dispense powers. There were very few fae who could dispense new abilities, and _very_ few who were willing to give them up for already powerful fae like Augus. Then there was the fact that virtually no one would want to give more power to _Augus._ Gwyn would have to trade something significant to make Augus more powerful.

He would also have to make sure that at least some fae were deterred from making those assassination attempts in the first place.

For this was Augus, who was competent and frightening at times, yes, but who was also immensely vulnerable and not trained in strategy. He was versed in weapons that were suited for one on one combat, not group melees or other forms of attack. He didn’t have any aptitude for magic, he couldn’t defend himself from a distance. 

But for every ten scrolls he struggled through, with every book he tenderly turned the page of – sometimes losing track of what he was doing because he’d start thinking about Augus singing again, or  the way he looked at Gwyn sometimes, as though he _mattered,_ he found little. With every shelf he trawled...he only ever found a line or two of information, and most of it he either already knew, was redundant, or unhelpful.

This would not be easy.

He was not liberating a forgotten pixie from the bottom of a well, he was not waking a sleeping princess from a tower of eternal sleep, he was not freeing fae who had been forgotten, who were crimeless or who only had the crime of being on the ‘other side’ of a war, who were innocent victims.

Augus was loathed by the waterfae, a pariah amongst many more, he was instantly recognisable and he had a reputation that preceded him long before he’d ever been King. He was, after all, the _Each Uisge,_ after a long line of Each Uisge. It didn’t matter that his reputation had once been that of a healer, a loving brother; that wasn’t his reputation now.

But he hoped Augus’ connection to Ash counted for something, because he wanted to use that too. People _adored_ Ash, they still adored him, even now that he was on the brink of his own sanity and hardly ever seen in the fae world, drinking himself stupid amongst the humans and eschewing his responsibilities as King – if Gulvi was anything to go by.

Ash was a golden light amongst the Unseelie fae. And if he could _use_ that...

Days passed, he lost himself to libraries and Court meetings and raising the statuses of underfae who needed to be able to defend their land. He only paused long enough to eat, didn’t even search out the food himself.

Often he simply looked up to find a picnic basket by his side, and he would plough into the food, starving, grateful for the trows who understood him and his needs.

He would need to head out into a battle soon, because the food was becoming less satisfactory, and he was working too hard to sustain himself without attacking and killing others.

He had no idea how much death he had to ‘eat’ to be healthy, he had no idea how he even _fed_ off the dead, only that as he cut down those in front of him with his sword, he was nourished by it somehow. Even as he hated it.

Even as he cut down his own kind.

*

The Oldest Lore was kept in a room only he could enter. It was one of the few rooms that he couldn’t alter. Not the location. Not the appearance. It was so old it was virtually a fixed point in time and space.

To get there, he went to the furthest edges of the palatial rooms and found a single, non-descript tree with a wide trunk. He pressed his hand to it, and the bark opened, folding back in upon itself. As he entered, a field of energy passed through him. It was warm, wet, invasive, felt like fish burrowing into his skin. But the fact that it only felt like this, and not an excruciating force that tore him apart, was the permission he needed to enter. No one else survived that barrier.

He walked down a bottomless tightly spiralling staircase through a narrow cylindrical dirt shaft. There was no light. He could only feel his way down, one step after the next, deeper into the earth. It smelled of dry dirt, desiccated, with the faint, sweet odour of decay. Eventually the temperature started to warm. Occasionally, set into the dirt, not quite flush with a staircase that had no landings, his hands would brush a circular wooden door, a metal closing, some sort of door handle. He didn’t open any of them. His instincts bristled sharply through him down here. This was a world of wyrms and gods of death and an underworld that he wasn’t comfortable within and wasn’t supposed to be, even if he was Unseelie.

Rumours said that Baba Yaga had a door that opened into this staircase, which he had dismissed initially, because Baba Yaga was Unseelie. But the first time he entered the space himself, he realised he wasn’t so sure. He’d realised there might be spaces in both the Seelie and Unseelie Courts where pathways existed to this strange, frightening space. Where his hair constantly stood up on end and his skin was constantly goosefleshed.

He walked down for another two hours. He’d never reached the bottom. The Oak King had said that it wasn’t possible, and that he was told that by Queen Titania before him, and that the knowledge was passed down through generations of royalty. No end to the black abyss, only a steadily rising temperature and an increasing fear and desperation to get _out._ He wasn’t claustrophobic, but this place wasn’t designed to be welcoming.

The closer he came to the Oldest Lore, the more his throat started to close, his gut ached, his bones throbbed.

But there, finally, a soft door set into the dirt. It felt like it was made of leather, and Gwyn had no idea what colour it was or what animal it came from. It smelt like no other type of leather he’d ever encountered.

He pushed through it into a small, candlelit cavern with dirt walls, dirt ceiling, dirt floor. One the far left, a single chair made of bone, flesh still hanging off it in some places, black and stiff. On the floor a single rug, woven in red, green and yellow to make simple geometric shapes, pleasing to the eye. And on one side, cabinets made of glass, modern make, housing words written on bark, in books, on the leather of animals and fae, on parchment and papyrus. A repository of Old Lore. All of it banned now. It made the fae too powerful. They said it was a magic from before the alignments existed, before the world was divided up into Seelie and Unseelie, pre-dating the class system.

Here it wasn’t so claustrophobic, but every now and then the room rippled with a kind of heat haze. He’d only been down here a handful of times in the past. Each time he left a little more unsettled, a little less stable, as though something was being shaken loose in his very soul. He hoped this would be the last time he’d ever have to come here.

One of his ribs throbbed at his side, and he curved his hand back and pressed fingers to it, wincing.

_That_ had been Old Lore too. And like sang to like, so the magic in this room sang to the gem that was soldered to his rib, sang to it and spoke a language that sent an empty, hollow pain through him.

He didn’t know how much Old Lore survived up there in the fae world, though some of it did. His father would have paid _dearly_ for the gem he’d attached to Gwyn’s side. It was the only thing keeping him protected. He lived every day of his life with something that broke the very tenets of fae lore living beneath his skin. He was never truly aware of it until he was in this room, and then the gem hummed and vibrated, made his rib feel like it was tingling. He could feel the dark magic within it, shadows twined together and then tucked within the stone, hiding his Unseelie energy from all who might spot it.

It never felt more alien, more wrong, than when he was in this room.

He walked calmly over to the glass cabinets and placed his hands against them. The glass didn’t fog at his warm touch. He could never leave any fingerprints. Everything in here was impervious. Everything preserved. The candle flames had been burning at exactly the same level for as long as Gwyn had known of them. That the candles had always been burnt down almost halfway meant that once – perhaps when the room was first constructed – it hadn’t been locked in time as it was now. Once it had been a functioning room. Maybe it hadn’t even been hidden in the underworld where almost no one knew of it and only royalty could enter.

‘Take me to what I must know, in order to liberate Augus Each Uisge,’ Gwyn said, the warmth of his breath stirring no vapour up against the glass.

He closed his eyes, waited, and then to the far right, something fluttered on a shelf. He walked over, and an origami bird hopped from foot to foot, fluttering paper wings. It watched him with lettered eyes, opened a beak made of pulped bark.

‘Here again!’ the bird chirped. ‘And so soon! First you want to take him down. Lock him up. Now you want him free? Is the Kingdom ruled by an infant?’

The bird laughed in a papery voice, and then shot straight at the glass with a _thump!_ right where Gwyn had pressed his face. Gwyn stepped backwards, shocked, even as the bird hopped back up to its feet and laughed. It was a disturbing sound.

‘An infant according to your wisdom,’ Gwyn appealed.

‘We told you, didn’t we? Told you that you’d change your mind. And so sure you were that you wouldn’t. ‘No,’ you said, ‘he must be conquered. I cannot see any future where he may wander free.’’

The bird spoke his voice in a perfect facsimile of his own, and he swallowed to hear his own words parroted back to him. No paper bird should be able to speak with so much resonance.

‘The price is high!’ the bird said. ‘The price is high! For all of you! For you and him and him and her and her and her and him again. And higher than you know! Higher than your death, Gwyn ap Nudd. Are you sure you want to know? We are banned and hidden and kept away for a _reason.’_

Gwyn pressed the flat of a hand to his own heart and looked around the room. Several other origami animals were now pressing curiously against the glass of their own shelves. An origami rabbit leaned its papery ears forward, a tiny fox paced back and forth at the bottom of the shelf. They all listened. He’d awoken the Old Lore. Magic that _lived._ Words that spoke.

‘Will it buy him time?’ Gwyn said, and the paper bird laughed, its beak hanging open, paper tongue fluttering.

‘Will it _work?_ Do you doubt us? Is that what the world has become? And you want to buy him _time?_ What quality of time? He will have all the time he needs locked up in a Seelie cell.’

‘Don’t tease him,’ the rabbit quietly chided, in a voice so soft that Gwyn had to strain for it. ‘Don’t tease the child, he has love on his side. That still matters to us.’

‘Love but not sense, care but not carefulness. All that wit and still witless!’

Gwyn sighed. He’d never heard the paper bird speak before and now he wished it had remained that way.

‘It does still matter to us,’ the paper bird said. ‘But the price is high! Here. See for yourself! _Look.’_

And with that, the bird unfolded itself and the glass cabinet opened with a click. Gwyn reached out with a shaking hand, then paused. He looked down at the rabbit, who looked up at him.

‘Is this folly?’ Gwyn said.

‘All life is folly,’ the rabbit said peacefully. ‘Love is not.’

‘Love is the greatest folly,’ Gwyn said.

‘Aye,’ agreed the rabbit. ‘It is the _greatest_ folly.’

And with that, Gwyn realised he had no choice. He picked up the parchment that had once been a paper bird laughing at him, and read it. The letters changed before his eyes to a language he could understand, ink letters swimming like fishes into new words. And there he read of a magic that he’d heard of, had dismissed, because it had been forbidden even in the time when Old Lore was still legal, still allowed.

‘Oh,’ Gwyn said.

‘And you will need his brother,’ the rabbit said. ‘And the bird is right, the price _is_ high. A storm is coming, Gwyn ap Nudd, and even if you weather this one, you and the others may not survive the plague that follows.’

Gwyn stared at the rabbit, who turned its inky eyes up at him and shrugged rabbit shoulders in a gesture not at all like the animal shape it inhabited.

‘The _others?’_

‘The others,’ the rabbit agreed. ‘The many.’

Gwyn stared at the parchment again, for so long his eyes started to hurt. The rabbit was right, he needed Ash for this.

Ash whom he’d been repeatedly turning away from the Seelie Court every time he drunkenly, desperately requested an audience. Ash who had threatened to kill him after the public Display. Ash who loathed him, the fae he’d betrayed to put his brother in a cell in the first place.

_Of course_ he’d need his help to set Augus free. And of course the parchment would suggest magic like _this._

The universe had an odd sense of humour.

*

He wasn’t done with his research, still needing to aggregate several sources of information together, wanting a multi-pronged approach to the issue. More days passed. He started to lose track of time, hours and nights bled into one another. His life was researching or the throne-room, trying to decipher what Crielle was up to and failing.

The wake she said she’d organise for Efnisien never appeared. She was up to something. He was several steps behind her plans and he felt it as a dread locking up his spine.

He was reading a long passage with no spaces between the words, no paragraphs, no indentations, sipping at willowbark tea to calm the constant headache he had acquired getting through this monstrosity of a tome. He placed the tea back down absently, and then startled so hard that he dropped the book.

Augus had placed a hand on his shoulder.

‘Easy,’ Augus said, squeezing his hand over Gwyn’s flesh where it rested. ‘Willowbark? It won’t be strong enough for whatever you’re reading there.’

Gwyn blinked his eyes clear, looked up at Augus, who was looking down at him, something like concern on his features. He wondered if Augus could tell, just by looking at him, how his heart twisted whenever he was present. How alert he became to Augus’ presence; to everything about him.

‘What are you reading?’ Augus said.

‘It’s research, a strategy,’ Gwyn said, not wanting Augus to know what he was doing. If he failed, if any of it failed... he couldn’t let Augus know.

‘I haven’t seen much of you lately. Do you need a break?’

‘No, I’m-’

And then it occurred to him what Augus was asking.

There was no smirk on Augus’ face, only a serious set to his features, a slight downward turn of his lips. Today his hair was tied back away from his face with waterweed. He wore buckskin pants dyed black, a pale grey shirt of a linen-like material that made the green of his waterweed and eyes stand out, it matched the pale grey of his boots.

‘Perhaps,’ Gwyn said. He didn’t feel like he was up to anything too strenuous. And since Augus had hurt him in the corridor, he’d become uncertain about how often he truly wanted the extremes of pain. He hadn’t even been able to think on it often, wary of how upset he’d become afterwards.

Augus’ lips curved up in a smirk. But he didn’t move to act, simply stroked his fingers down Gwyn’s notebook, across the shorthand, pursing his lips at it.

‘I’ve been meaning to ask you something. Your immunity to compulsion is quite rare, even amongst fae. Did it come from your father’s side of the family?’

Gwyn hadn’t been expecting the question, and he looked at Augus in shock, then shifted his folded legs out from under him and bent them together at the knees instead, resting the rest of his body weight on a palm he pressed into the floor.

‘No, it’s not immunity. I was taught.’

Augus’ eyes widened.

‘Lludd too,’ Gwyn expanded. ‘Lludd taught himself.’

‘So it’s not immunity? They can actually affect you?’

Gwyn shrugged a shoulder.

‘If I wished it, I suppose they could. I have had the barrier set up in my mind for so long. It doesn’t occur to me to take it down. Especially not around waterhorses like yourself.’

‘Oh, you’ve cut me to the quick,’ Augus said, smiling. ‘Would you let me? Would you lower the barrier?’

‘Augus,’ Gwyn said, staring at him.

‘I’ve promised not to cause you permanent injury or death, it does extend to permanent injury of your mind. Let me try. Please.’

‘Augus, if you think being polite is going to-’

‘Please?’ Augus said, affecting a look of sweet innocence. Gwyn grit his teeth together. His heart was already pounding harder.

‘Tell me what you’ll do.’

‘I will only ask you to move the hand at your side down onto the ground. That is all. You know as well as I do that compulsions aren’t permanent, and even with your barrier down, you are the King, and could break it. There are many, _many_ things you could do to me, if I lied to you.’

Augus didn’t look like he was setting a trap, but that was often when Augus _was_ setting a trap. Still, Gwyn was curious. He had always wanted to know what compulsions felt like. And he was curious because Augus had already taken over so much of his body in scenes, it seemed like compulsions weren’t that much of a next step; to give up his mind temporarily and still be aware of what he was doing. To offer that of himself.

Gwyn searched for the barrier in his mind. It felt like opening several closets within closets to reach it, which was deliberate. He could only take purposeful steps in his mind towards that barrier, so that he could not be compelled to remove it.

Once by its side, he willed it down and away. It didn’t feel any different, he wasn’t sure if it would work.

‘I think I have-’

_‘Place your left hand down flat on the floor, at your side.’_

Gwyn felt his left arm move involuntarily and instantly and instinctively he fought it, surprised at how much force it took to resist. Augus placed a hand on his chest, over his heart, finding the labouring beat and exhaling with a combination of hunger and something else.

‘Don’t fight it,’ Augus said. ‘The sooner you obey, the sooner it falls away naturally.’

Gwyn stared at him as his own hand moved flat to the floor, arm shaking, brow furrowed. The compulsion dropped away as Augus said, and Gwyn slammed the barrier back up so fast that he worsened his own headache and rocked forwards, head pulsing with pain. Augus was stroking long lines down his chest, didn’t try to compel him again.

‘I’ve used it several times in scene,’ Augus said quietly. ‘I would like to use it with you.’

‘You’re joking,’ Gwyn said, and knew that he wasn’t.

His curiosity had been met with an awareness of just how powerful those compulsions were. He’d always assumed that with his mental training, his physical prowess, his status as _King,_ it would be easy to fight the compulsions. And indeed, he did sense that he _could_ fight them, but he’d had no idea how much effort he would truly require. Augus was only Capital fae. He should _not_ be so strong.

‘Are you uncommonly powerful at compulsions?’

‘Yes,’ Augus said simply. ‘I’m not sure why. Ash and I both, in fact. Though Ash rarely uses his except – I imagine – to wish people a ‘good day,’ and use compulsion to ensure they have it.’

He sounded faintly disgusted, even amongst the affectionate amusement.

‘I don’t know about this, Augus,’ Gwyn said. He looked up slowly.

‘You don’t know about this like sounding? Or you don’t know like...being choked until you pass out?’

Gwyn flushed at the comparison. Augus’ hand came up and cupped his cheek, and Gwyn moved away, wanting to think. Augus moved his hand and placed it on his upper arm instead, ensuring they were constantly touching. It was hard to concentrate with Augus so close. And he loathed that he was some stupid, love-struck fool around him, around one of the most dangerous waterhorses in the world.

Except the Augus had shown so much of himself that wasn’t dangerous, hadn’t he? That hadn’t _all_ been a lie, had it?

_No, only most of it, you dimwit._

‘It would please me very much, if you tried,’ Augus said. ‘I know how much you wish to please me.’

_‘Don’t_ make misuse of my-my desire to-’

‘I don’t,’ Augus said. ‘I swear.’

Gwyn looked up and met his eyes, seeing only seriousness there.

‘What do you need from me that you must compel it, instead of only asking me? I stepped up to a cross without knowing why.’

‘You did, didn’t you? I want you to take yourself in hand, and bring yourself off for me,’ Augus said, a gleam coming back to his eyes, a smirk to his lips. He curled his fingers slowly and deeply into Gwyn’s arm. ‘And I want to watch. And I _know_ you will need to be helped along with that.’

Gwyn’s mouth opened on an ‘oh’ that he never voiced. Augus was right. His cheeks burned hot.

‘And what would this be, if you weren’t a little scared?’ Augus crooned. ‘You shouldn’t trust me, but you should let me do this. I don’t plan on you regretting it.’

And with that, Augus stood and patted him on the shoulder – as though he were a giant dog – and walked out of the room. Gwyn watched him go, and looked back at the book he’d been reading. In response, his head flared with pain and he realised he was done for the day.

Perhaps he’d go seek out Augus that evening.

*

It was pre-dawn when he found himself lying back on Augus’ bed, heart pounding out a familiar tattoo of trepidation. He’d spent the hours of midnight until approximately four in the morning wondering if his curiosity would beat out his fear and becoming convinced it wouldn’t. Until finally he’d wandered across to Augus’ rooms and knocked nervously on his door, only for Augus to open and usher him in.

Augus wasn’t baiting him as much as normal, perhaps because he knew that Gwyn was five minutes away from bolting. Even lying on the bed, clothed, he felt as though the top layer of his skin had been flayed from his body.

Finally Augus slid off his chair and crawled up onto the bed, straddling Gwyn at the hips and looking at him for one long moment before reaching for the hem of his shirt. He pulled it up with both hands and Gwyn arched his body upwards, completed the act of taking off his shirt. Augus dropped it off the side of the bed and then moved his hands down to the fastenings at Gwyn’s pants, and Gwyn lifted his hips when Augus pulled them down. They, too, disappeared off the side of the bed. Gwyn was naked and Augus still fully clothed.

Gwyn swallowed.

‘What is it, in your head?’ Augus said. He smoothed his palm up over Gwyn’s abdomen, watching the muscles twitch in response. ‘Is it a wall? A saying? How do you keep the compulsions out?’

‘It is a barrier,’ Gwyn said, licking dry lips with a dry tongue. It wasn’t helpful.

And then Augus was sliding his wet tongue into Gwyn’s mouth and licking his own lips for him, sucking on his bottom lip, sinking teeth in to the point of pain. He licked his way back in and teased Gwyn’s tongue into action, withdrawing slowly as Gwyn opened his mouth to follow Augus’ tongue, until Gwyn was touching his mouth to Augus’ lips without thinking, tasting the water-freshness of him.

‘A barrier, that is all? That is how you think of it in your own head?’

‘Yes,’ Gwyn said.

‘Take it down,’ Augus whispered, pressing his fingers to Gwyn’s forehead, as though he could feel the block in his mind. Gwyn closed his eyes, took several deep breaths. This was madness. It was _madness._

But it didn’t stop him from searching for the barrier, finding it, willing it to come down. Once more, he felt no different. If it wasn’t for the fact that he’d experienced one of Augus’ compulsions firsthand earlier, he wouldn’t have thought it would work. Augus raised his eyebrows and Gwyn nodded a hesitant assent.

_‘Stroke your torso with your left hand,’_ Augus said, his voice soft.

Gwyn’s face screwed up as he felt his hand move without his willing it.

‘It’s easier, far easier if you relax,’ Augus said, keeping his voice soothing.

‘That’s easy for you to say,’ Gwyn gritted out. Even so, his rough hand found his own skin, and he stroked down. A single, steady stroke. It was one of the most indulgent things he’d ever done to his body in his entire life.

‘Good,’ Augus said. ‘Good. _Keep the barrier down for the duration of this scene.’_

Gwyn’s eyes flew open, he stared at Augus in shock as a smirk appeared at the corners of Augus’ mouth. He reached inside himself, found the lowered barrier and willed it back up again, and...nothing happened. He squeezed his eyes shut, brought his concentration to bear and _nothing._

‘What have you done?’ Gwyn gasped, horrified.

‘There’s always loopholes.’ Augus licked at the side of his face. Gwyn was already tense, started shaking beneath him. He didn’t want this. The duration of the scene? That only lasted as long as _he_ wanted it to last, didn’t it? He rolled over, pushing Augus away, and had slid halfway off the bed when-

_‘Stop moving.’_

Gwyn’s body froze, he growled out a sound of frustration.

_‘Come back.’_

And Gwyn’s body did, too open to the compulsions to refuse them, and aware that he might need his strength to seriously break them later. He wasn’t willing to resist over these ones, not now. But he was still shaking when he lay back down on the bed, and he brought his knees up in a bent position defensively, refused to make eye contact with Augus.

‘Easy,’ Augus said, stroking his flank over and over again. At that, he got up off the bed and withdrew two things from a drawer. The first was a vial of lubricant. The second was-

Gwyn grit his teeth together.

_‘No,_ Augus.’

‘Yes,’ Augus said, waving the dildo in the air casually. ‘Yes. But I can wait. First you’ll need to open yourself up for it, won’t you? What is your problems with toys, anyway? I could compel the answer out of you, but I won’t. We all know how much you love your _privacy.’_

He dropped the dildo down on the bed and then opened the vial of lubricant, drawing one of Gwyn’s hands up and slicking it himself. He then picked up Gwyn’s other hand and slicked that too, paying special attention to several of his fingers. Gwyn turned his face in the other direction and stared at a fixed point on the wall.

‘You,’ Augus said, ‘are capable of so much pleasure. It is not only that you are barely touched and therefore starved for it, but also that you are simply _sensitive._ It is a crime that you don’t explore yourself. That you don’t – after a hard day – know how to lay yourself down and press fingers up inside of yourself, into that heat. It is beyond imagining that I know more about the inside of your ass than you do. How it feels. How tight it is.’

Gwyn swallowed at the words, licked at his lips again.

_‘Lift your hips,’_ Augus said. Gwyn did so without thinking, gritted his teeth together at the order. He would have done that without the compulsion. A pillow slid underneath him, between his hips and his lower back, and he realised it left him more open, more exposed.

He wasn’t remotely hard.

_‘Wrap your fingers around yourself.’_

The compulsion didn’t even need to be explicit. Unlike other species of fae that needed to be exacting in their compulsions, Augus only needed to hint at what he wanted, and the intent came through so strongly in his words that his mind could immediately divine his meaning. Gwyn’s hand moved down between his legs and he cautiously wrapped fingers around himself, closing his eyes and blacking out the world as he did so. His grip was slick because of the lubricant, different to how he normally did it when he simply wanted some quick form of monthly stress relief. He was hot within his hand, warmer between his legs than his palm was. Augus was kneeling by his side, watching everything, close enough that Gwyn could feel Augus’ temperature against his skin. Yet her still felt far away, not touching him.

_‘You know what to do,’_ Augus said, and Gwyn made a fractious, frustrated sound as his hand started moving on himself. When he went too fast, Augus compelled him to slow down, and then slow down again. Gwyn watched him, frustrated, but Augus looked intent, more focused than Gwyn had ever seen him.

_‘Tell me how you feel,’_ Augus said, and Gwyn slammed his teeth together. His hand faltered.

‘Gwyn,’ Augus whispered, ‘you can do this.’

‘Fuck _off,_ Augus,’ Gwyn muttered, but juggling two compulsions in his mind at the same time was too difficult and-

_‘Tell me.’_

‘Scared,’ Gwyn heard himself say. His closed his eyes, he didn’t want to see the world. He didn’t know how he felt, but the words came anyway. ‘Intrigued. Concerned. Alone.’

‘Ah,’ Augus said, and then reached out and pressed his hand to Gwyn’s side. ‘Alone? Alright. Why?’

The wave of relief that Gwyn felt when he realised it wasn’t a compulsion, was so strong that he relaxed further into the bed.

‘I don’t know,’ Gwyn said. He was still chagrined at what he’d said. ‘Don’t compel it.’

‘I won’t,’ Augus said, pressing his fingers into Gwyn’s skin with more pressure. Gwyn shuddered out a breath at the touch. It wasn’t much, but it helped. He became aware of himself again, the feeling of his own hand moving on himself, far more slowly than he’d ever done it in the past. The lubricant made the movement easy, but also made him more acutely aware of how rough his hand was, and he began to harden in his hand. He kept his eyes closed.

This was not something he did. Evoking pleasure in himself. His father had always had a very clear idea of how much pleasure he thought Gwyn should allow himself in his life, and the answer was as very close to none as possible.

‘Move your other hand between your legs,’ Augus said, and Gwyn shook his head. He knew what Augus wanted, couldn’t _not_ know from the time that Augus had laughed at him when Gwyn had said he’d never pushed fingers inside himself. _‘Do it.’_

Gwyn blew air out of his lungs as his other hand moved down. Augus spoke all the compulsions to him softly, but the power in them was immense. He was suddenly grateful for the training his father had given him, as difficult as it was at the time. He wondered now if he was more susceptible than the average fae, or if Augus’ compulsions were just that hard to fight off.

_‘Stroke yourself,’_ Augus whispered.

And even without clear instructions, Gwyn’s mind knew exactly what Augus was asking for. He moved his head to the side, into the pillow, as his hips arched up and he stroked between the cleft of his own ass, lubricant making each slide easier, his fingers dipping closer. He had hoped to pretend it wasn’t his own hand, but he could feel his own fingers moving, feel the slide of fingertips that he knew were rough from sword-fighting and archery, from hunting and training. A sound caught in his throat.

‘Augus, can’t you just do this yourself?’

‘No,’ Augus laughed. ‘I’m feeling lazy. You do it. Besides, I enjoy seeing you like this. A great deal. Face flushed, breathing unsteady and all because I’m asking you to try something new.’

‘Compelling, not asking.’

‘Semantics,’ Augus said, and Gwyn grimaced.

The compulsion to move his hand on his own cock wasn’t falling away, wasn’t going anywhere. And it was starting to feel good, sending lances of heat through him. He squeezed himself at the head on the upward stroke and groaned, and Augus hummed a thick, happy approval at him.

_‘Breach yourself. Slowly.’_

Gwyn fought Augus again, feeling his whole body lock up as he fought the compulsion. Augus was stroking his side, and Gwyn shook his head as the compulsion built and gathered strength, pulling at Gwyn’s resistance until he was shaking. He gasped and then exhaled a shattered sound as he felt his own fingertip press against his entrance and then push. He felt hypersensitive, feedback coming through his entrance as he slid in slowly, and his own hand, pressing into the heat of himself.

‘Augus,’ Gwyn breathed. ‘I can’t do this.’

‘You’re doing it,’ Augus said. ‘You’re doing fine.’

Another compulsion and Gwyn was moving his finger back and forth inside of himself. The angle was odd, everything about it was odd. His eyebrows pulled together as he attuned to everything happening to him. His other hand was moving so slowly on his cock that he’d almost forgotten about it. He wasn’t like Augus, he wouldn’t come from that slow pace.

Another compulsion and Gwyn pressed back in with two fingers, more aware of the tightness than he’d ever been when he’d been taken in the past. He tossed his head absently, and only realised he’d moved it towards Augus when fingers came up and smoothed his hair back from his face. He opened his eyes to see Augus watching where Gwyn was stroking himself, fascinated. His own cheeks were flushed. He didn’t understand how Augus was enjoying this. After all, it wasn’t like when Gwyn had asked Augus to do this to himself. Augus was beautiful. And he was...Gwyn was functional.

Gwyn stopped moving. Augus’ eyes snapped to his, alert.

_‘What happened?’_

‘I’m not like you,’ Gwyn said, not bothering to fight it. His mind was being worn out, and the repeated strain was getting to him. He started to think that maybe he should hire a fae who had compulsions as an ability to interrogate others. It was entirely too effective. ‘I’m not like you, Augus. I don’t know why you’re enjoying watching me do this. It’s just me. It’s not like when you do it.’

Augus dropped down in a crouch by Gwyn’s side, pressed his lips to Gwyn’s ear.

‘Shall I tell you? First, _start moving your hands again.’_

Gwyn did, swallowing down a noise. Everything was slick and steady and warm. He could feel the light prickling away at him, creeping closer to the surface.

‘You’re not like me,’ Augus said, each word a press of warm air into his ear that made him shiver. His hand tightened on his cock and his hips arched up. Now that Augus wasn’t watching him, this was easier. ‘I agree. You are a formidable, honed weapon who just also happens to be this guarded, shy creature full of sentiment and a vast, _vast_ capacity for feeling. I used to think that you were emotionally stunted, but now I think that you are the culmination of years of carefully shunting away the raw, feral thing you are behind walls and doors. And whenever I find _that,_ the hunter in me is _so_ pleased, Gwyn. Because you do so love to be caught, you even love to struggle in the nets I trap you in.’

Gwyn moaned, shot through with a bolt of arousal so vast that he arched his hips up for his own fingers unconsciously. Augus chuckled, licked into his ear.

‘Do you like that? The idea of being hunted by me? _Tell me.’_

‘Yes,’ Gwyn groaned.

_‘Stretch yourself.’_

Gwyn’s voice caught up in his throat as his own fingers moved back to his entrance and he stretched himself the way Augus had in the past. Augus was mouthing kisses into his jaw, his cheek, then licking his way back down to Gwyn’s ear. Gwyn could feel the faint smile tightening his lips, imagined the expression on Augus’ face.

_‘Three fingers.’_

Gwyn’s mouth dropped open before he even pushed the third in, turning his head towards Augus’ and burying his face in the space between Augus’ neck and shoulder. He cried out as he pushed the third finger into himself, feeling the ache of it, his face was burning, and his hand around his cock still responded to the compulsion from before, slowly stroking himself up and down. He was leaking precome now, but still moving too slowly to come. The pace was impossible. It dragged frustration all the way through him.

‘Augus,’ Gwyn gasped. ‘Augus, just-’

‘If you want to be fucked, Gwyn, you’re going to have to do it to yourself.’

Gwyn shook his head against Augus’ neck, but the heat was expanding too far inside of him, he wanted to be filled. The fingers weren’t enough, the angle was terrible. He was full, and stretched, but it only made him aware of an emptiness inside of him.

_‘Tell me what you want.’_

Gwyn whimpered, tried to consider his words, but in the space he took to figure out what to say, his mouth opened and answered anyway.

‘You. _Please.’_

‘But you can’t have me,’ Augus said, sounding far too sweet for someone who had that smug expression on his face. ‘So if you can’t have me, you’ll have to have something else, won’t you? You can pretend it’s me if you like, but...’ Augus picked up the dildo and turned it in his hands, ‘it’s shaped differently. It will feel different.’

Augus slicked up the dildo with lubricant and Gwyn refused to watch, and all the while his hands moved. Even when he wasn’t thinking about it, they were still moving, parts of his mind partitioned off and controlled by Augus’ powers. Though he experimented with the hand moving on his cock, he didn’t do anything more with his other hand than let it follow the compulsion, it felt too strange otherwise.

Augus shifted, watched the movements of Gwyn’s hands for a minute, a hungry expression on his face, and then reached between his legs, withdrawing his fingers where they were thrusting in. Gwyn made a small sound of protest, and Augus ignored him, wrapped his fingers around the dildo. Gwyn shook his head. This was _not_ something he did. It was-

_‘Push it in,’_ Augus commanded, and Gwyn jerked his hand back and away from his own entrance, glaring. Augus looked up, delight in his eyes. ‘I do so like it when you fight me. Do you want to see what happens when you resist multiple compulsions of the same nature? Let me show you. _Push it into yourself.’_

A spear of pain flooded Gwyn’s mind and he growled in response, hand shaking as it tried to obey the compulsion while he simultaneously tried to force it back. Augus had said Gwyn was likely strong enough to break his compulsions and he turned his mind to it, gritting his teeth, splitting through the first and-

_‘Gwyn ap Nudd,’_ Augus said, and Gwyn felt rocked by the force of hearing his name alone with that power behind it, _‘Push the dildo into your ass, and don’t stop until it’s at least halfway.’_

‘Oh, _fuck,’_ Gwyn swore, losing the battle against Augus’ will, his own traitorous hand moving back between his legs and pushing the blunt head of the object against himself. Augus was laughing in what seemed like quiet triumph as Gwyn felt himself stretch around it. He gasped at the feel of it, Augus was right, it _was_ different. He made a small, distressed sound and Augus was still chuckling even as he pressed his hand to Gwyn’s chest and started rubbing circles into him in a way that seemed reassuring, except that he was catching Gwyn’s nipple _every_ time.

Gwyn was approaching sensory overload, between the hand on himself, the feeling of being penetrated by something cool and different and patently not Augus, and Augus touching him like that.

‘I will, I _will_ kill y- _Ah.’_

‘Halfway yet?’ Augus said, smiling at him with such brightness that Gwyn wanted to whine at the corresponding pain in his heart at that expression. He wasn’t halfway yet. The _thing_ he was pushing into himself had the same girth as Augus, and Gwyn felt stretched already. Even with the lubricant, the other distracting feedback, he had no idea how people did this to themselves. He had no idea how he was doing it now.

His hand slowed and then stopped, that must have been halfway. He gulped down huge breaths of air and then whimpered when Augus leaned down and bit at his other nipple, sharp teeth scraping over it. His hips bucked up and he wanted to reach up and dig fingers into Augus’ side, press bruises into him in retaliation, but he didn’t have a single hand free. He ground his teeth together.

‘But I’m a sadist,’ Augus said almost to himself. He looked up and eyed Gwyn, contemplative. ‘And you _like_ pain.’

Trepidation made his heart skip a beat.

_‘Push deeper.’_

Gwyn’s hand moved. He was sure he could break the compulsion if he put his mind to it, but he was close to surrendering his mind over. There were too many points of contact on his body, too much to focus on, and he was starting to want to lose himself in it. His hand on his cock was terribly consistent, it was hard to feel ashamed of it now. The slow movements had been going for so long, he was learning things about himself that he hadn’t known. That he liked to squeeze himself on the upstroke with particular pressure to the underside of his cock. That he liked slowly brushing calluses over the ridge of his own head. He hadn’t known that.

Gwyn recognised the point where Augus’ cock normally bottomed out inside of him, and then cried out when he realised there was more of the dildo to come. He pushed the object deeper inside of himself and then a dull flare of pain throbbed up the base of his spine and he froze, eyes widening. Augus’s cock was normally too much. This was definitely _too much._

‘Too deep?’ Augus said, and Gwyn nodded, wordless. The pain radiated outward, and Gwyn squeezed at his own cock to balance it out with the slow pleasure at his front. He shuddered through it, repeated the gesture. Augus followed that up by lapping at his nipple, then sucking at it. He looked up again, leaning over him and pressing lips to his, thrusting his tongue deep. But nothing felt as deep as what he currently had pushed inside of himself. His wrist was trembling.

‘I’m surprised,’ Augus said. ‘I must be the perfect length for you.’

Gwyn moaned in something that could have been acknowledgement, and Augus hummed amusement at him.

‘Still, I do like to see that face you make when you’re hurting. _Push deeper.’_

Gwyn stared at him, fighting the compulsion, his wrist and arm trembling, his shoulder locking up.

‘Now, now,’ Augus said, a lazy, predatory hunger stealing over his face. ‘Struggling against the net? Give it up, Gwyn. _Hurt yourself.’_

His shoulder unlocked, he pushed deeper, and the throb of pain widened, because a pool inside of him. He cried out several times moving as slowly as he could in the confines of the compulsion. But he was pushing deeper, he _hurt,_ he was doing what Augus had said. He tilted his body into Augus’, hiding his face, and Augus said nothing, only kissed the side of his head. Made reassuring, approving noises at him.

He sobbed when the dildo was seated deep inside of him, when he felt his own fingers brush up against his skin.

‘Look at you shaking,’ Augus said, voice warm. ‘Edged yourself there, a little bit, didn’t you? _What is it like?’_

‘Ah, too...much, _Augus,_ I can’t- I’m not- _help_ me.’

Augus growled at him and Gwyn’s entire body tightened, clenched in response. He whimpered again, unable to keep his sounds down, muffling them in Augus’ skin, in the silty scent of him.

‘By the gods, you are delicious when you’re like this,’ Augus said, breathless. ‘Help you? Maybe. Not now though. I had something else in mind. _Keep the dildo deep, and fuck yourself with it.’_

Gwyn couldn’t breathe properly as his arm obeyed. Everything turned unsteady, and his legs widened around the ache of it. He was fucking himself with deep, short thrusts that stole the air from his lungs and left him biting repeatedly at Augus’ collarbone where his wide-necked shirt had slipped. He only realised how hard he was biting when he tasted the loamy, coppery flavour of his blood. Augus hardly reacted, except to stroke him from neck to hip, over and over. Gwyn sobbed, the dildo was too long, it was too deep, he couldn’t find release like this. There was too much pain. He shook his head against Augus, and Augus firmed up the touch on his side, pressed lips into the side of his head.

Augus didn’t say anything until the compulsion wore off naturally, which was over a minute later. By then, Gwyn was holding back low, deep cries in the back of his throat. There was a strange, aching burn inside of him, embers that sent up occasional sparks up to the very surface of his skin.

As soon as the compulsion wore off, Gwyn slid the dildo back until it wasn’t painful and shuddered out a sigh of relief. Augus said nothing for several long moments, waited as Gwyn caught his breath.

_‘Fuck yourself with it,’_ Augus said again, _‘Remember: slowly.’_

The first slow, almost shallow thrust with the dildo brought no pain, only heat, and he tilted onto his back once more, pressing his head back into the pillows and closing his mouth around a moan that vibrated loud through his entire body.

_‘Does it hurt?’_

‘No, not anymore,’ Gwyn gasped, finding himself more articulate than he’d ever been during something like this. ‘It doesn’t hurt at all. It’s good, it’s so good, Augus. It’s too slow, it’s too- but it’s _so_ good.’

Gwyn was vaguely aware of Augus reaching between them and undoing his own pants, and he groaned at the thought of Augus touching himself at the same time. Augus compelled him to keep going slowly, and Gwyn realised as the minutes passed that it was _too_ slow. He wasn’t like Augus. Without a rush of speed, nothing brewed within his skin but a frustrating, liquid light that swirled through him lazily, painting his nerves with arousal, but never letting him peak.

More minutes passed, Augus following Gwyn’s pace and his breathing escalating, and Gwyn suddenly became scared that Augus would come before he did, that Augus would let Gwyn keep doing this and not let him stop. The wrist moving the dildo between his legs was beginning to hurt, and it didn’t matter how often he squeezed or shifted his fingers against his cock, it wasn’t enough.

‘Please, Augus, please.’

Augus kissed his shoulder, exhaled shakily.

‘I don’t know why you’re asking me. You’re the one fucking yourself with it.’

‘Let me go faster, I can’t come like this.’

‘Sweetness,’ Augus said, and Gwyn’s heart skipped over itself and he made a strangled noise. ‘You can. I promise you.’

‘I _can’t.’_

‘Can’t you?’ Augus shifted up until he could press his lips back to Gwyn’s ear. ‘How would you know? You’ve never done this before. You’re simply not used to prolonged arousal, which is a terrible shame, if you ask me. Because _look_ at you. You are a wreck, right now. Do you think I’m a merciful fae, truly? It so happens that I can be, but then I see you and- _Push it deep again.’_

The shock of pain as Gwyn responded to the compulsion made his entire body arch up and back, trying to escape the pressure of his own wrist. And Augus was licking into his ear, licking the shell of it, kissing the fragile cartilage.

_‘Back to the slow pace of before,’_ Augus whispered, the compulsion coiling through his mind. Pain faded back into tight coils of heat and Gwyn thumped his head back against the pillow. Augus’s arm was moving between them both, and Gwyn couldn’t even tip his head down and watch. He could hardly think. It was warmth and light and a liquid laxness that stretched through his limbs and left him increasingly boneless on the bed, even as tension wound up through his spine.

‘Augus, _please,’_ Gwyn whispered. ‘Tell me what to do.’

‘Fuck,’ Augus cleared his throat, and Gwyn felt an acute thrill of pleasure when he realised that he was the one to affect Augus like that.

‘Tell me what to do,’ Gwyn said again, and Augus laughed.

‘Be patient.’

_‘No,’_ Gwyn snarled. But his arms were shaking when he tried to move faster. He’d heard the compulsion to be slow so many times, that he didn’t know where to start in terms of breaking it. He suspected he couldn’t break the compulsions at all without using his light, and that would be far too dangerous in a situation like this. He grimaced. ‘Augus, be merciful.’

‘I could watch you like this for hours,’ Augus whispered into his ear, each word falling hot inside his ear. Gwyn’s muscles coiled tighter in response and he hummed at them. Perhaps if Augus talked to him, perhaps _then..._ ‘I could keep this scene going for _days._ And your hands would be sore and your arms aching and the inside of you bruised and I would pull so much from you that you would lose your voice and forget how to say anything but my name, and the word ‘please.’ And I _would_ do that, because I _do_ have the patience for it. You are stunning, like this. I loathe mirrored ceilings, but I’d consider it if it would give you a chance to see what you looked like right now.’

And in the fervency of those words, Gwyn flushed hot, his hips arched up into the thrusts, he realised that he was far closer than before.

‘Keep talking,’ Gwyn gasped, and Augus smiled against his ear.

‘One day I will _hunt_ you, the way you wish to be hunted. I will stalk you through the forest and you might even know that I am coming, and you might think that you want to be caught, but there is always that moment – isn’t there? – where you realise the error of your ways and struggle and fight back.’

Gwyn cried out, the words shouldn’t have the effect that they were having, but that awareness was too far away, too dim. He ached to move his hands faster, he was building towards a crest, but so slowly he wasn’t sure if he would make it. He turned his head towards Augus’ mouth.

‘Do you remember the first time I had you?’ Augus breathed. Gwyn’s mouth dropped open, he felt his cock thickening in his own hands. ‘Sweetness, did you ever know it could be like this? Did you-’

Augus gasped, his arm moving between them became erratic. Gwyn shook his head in frustration. He needed the words, the pace wasn’t enough, he needed _more._

‘Oh,’ Augus laughed breathless, moaning softly as he started to come against Gwyn’s hip, painting him with hot stripes. Gwyn moaned in frustration and want. ‘You daft...fool. _Come for me.’_

The compulsion ripped through his mind and moved with the force of a juggernaut down his spine, turning everything to fragments of light. His spine arched sharply, his hand clenched hard around himself as he came, he couldn’t hear the sounds he was making, only feel them scrape through his throat on short, sharp exhales. His orgasm was a wrenching force within, elongated with the help of compulsion, acute and edged to the point of pain.

He was still mindless with pleasure when a hand eased between his legs and moved his limp fingers away from the dildo. Augus withdrew it with care, licking at his lips when Gwyn felt the sensation of it only as another aftershock that made his back tauten again, a moan stretch through him.

And then fingers were prying Gwyn’s off his own cock, threading through them and bringing his arm up and resting it flat on his belly. Gwyn was still shuddering when Augus left and returned with a dry towel, wiping lubricant off his palms and fingers, cleaning him. Gwyn was too limp to do anything. He was exhausted.

_‘Put the barrier back up,’_ Augus said, and Gwyn swallowed around a sore throat and searched in his mind for the barrier, willed it back up again. It shuddered back into place and his brow furrowed to feel it. For so many centuries it felt unobtrusive, but after a time of being down, he was more aware of it now than ever.

Augus pressed long, lingering kisses onto his skin. The curve of a pectoral, the concave spaces between the muscles on his abdomen. He licked at the sweat that had formed all over him, caressed him with a gentleness that was at once thrilling and unsettling.

‘You’re beautiful,’ Augus said.

Gwyn’s face twisted, his heart lurched.

_‘Don’t.’_

Augus sighed, but didn’t say anything else. He stroked sweaty curls back from Gwyn’s forehead, from his cheeks where they’d stuck to his skin. He used a clean edge of the towel to dry off a combination of sweat and tears from his cheeks, and Gwyn felt his mind drifting. He was so tired. He didn’t want to sleep, but he’d even been putting off dozing, and he needed to rest.

‘You’ll never do that on your own, will you?’ Augus said. Gwyn thought about it, thought about the pleasure of it, found himself shaking his head. When would he ever do that on his own? Without the compulsions, there were too many points at which shame or embarrassment or self-consciousness would find him.

Augus had reached between them, was cleaning himself off. Gwyn listened to him do up his pants again, and then felt Augus lean his full length alongside Gwyn’s, rest a hand flat against his shoulder.

‘I don’t need to hunt you,’ Augus said quietly.

‘I know,’ Gwyn said, despair and pleasure turning his voice soft.

He was already caught.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, 'Light:'
> 
> ‘Oh,’ Ash purred. ‘Oh, do you? You need _my_ help? You’ve needed my help before. This is gonna sound really familiar, but how about go fuck yourself? How about, the last time I helped you, thinking I’d get something out of the bargain, you fucked me over, and you destroyed my brother. I _saw_ him, Gwyn, I fucking _saw_ him.’


	28. Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No new tags. 
> 
> *
> 
> A massive thank you (I know you guys get sick of hearing this probably, but I never get sick of saying it) to those who leave feedback, or who interact with the fic, or even those just reading it and enjoying it!

He teleported into the human world, finding himself in a dank alleyway, the bass thud of some synthetic drumbeat sounding in an establishment nearby. The whole area was crawling with scents: a patina of vomit, urine, alcohol and the sort of food that Gwyn enjoyed eating except that now it was too closely intermingled with artificial aftershaves and perfumes, the chemical undertone of plastics embedded into paints, the sharp acridity of human sweat, shedding the toxins they ate and breathed. It was a sump. Gwyn could hardly believe he was in the right place.

Then again, maybe he wasn’t.

He walked with purpose through the alleyway, passing a group of human youths who were smoking cigarettes at a corner. They watched him as he went, eyes lingering. Gwyn had started ratcheting up his dra’ocht before he’d even left the Seelie Court, but he didn’t always inspire friendliness in other humans and his back prickled as he felt their eyes on him.

Then:

‘Hey, _Ren Faire!’_

Gwyn ignored them.

‘Someone call a Ren Faire! We got an escapee!’

He realised that he looked out of place again. He’d never gotten adept at dressing himself for the fae world, let alone the human one. Even in a modern cut, his pants were still fashioned from soft buckskin. And plain, pale linen shirts that laced up at the collar had hardly been in fashion for more than what felt like five years in the human world. Even his boots were hunter’s boots, not designed for streets that had muck and refuse stamped into them for over so many decades that they would never be clean again. They weren’t designed for bitumen or even stone pathways.

Gwyn didn’t mind humans, though he didn’t like their increased dependence on synthetics, that was mostly due to sensory overload and the sense of pollution he felt from the human world. And besides, he couldn’t begrudge them the desire to extend their lives as long as possible. Every creature that lived only a brief flickering candle flame of a life, wanted to prolong it. Even the majority of fae who lived thousands of years usually had a fear of death and a desire to avoid it.

He didn’t like the spill-over of human culture into the fae world. Though it was natural and inevitable. Some species of fae were fascinated with humans, just as some humans were fascinated with fae. He’d needed to interact a great deal with the human world when he was dealing with Augus at his worst. The only reason the humans hadn’t made a bigger deal about the school attacks, that there hadn’t been more media coverage of the strange beings that had appeared and ghosted their strange cameras, caused lenses and recording devices to flare and hum with static, was because Gwyn had – along with Albion and Ondine – smoothed over the debacle directly.

It had been a long time since the fae had needed to do anything of the sort, and he’d felt overwhelmed by it. It turned out that even if he was not using his dra’ocht on government officials, even when he was simply wandering the streets, it still made his skin crawl with unease. This wasn’t his world, it wasn’t his home, he didn’t hunt here, he didn’t belong. Even the Seelie Court, which was an anathema to him – and he was starting to remember why more often now – even that didn’t grate in quite the same way.

He made his way into a crowded bar. It was bearable. The stink of urine and vomit was less pungent, and here the smells of sweat – less masked by synthetic chemicals and therefore more pleasant – and alcohol rose to the surface.

It turned out Gulvi had been right.

He could smell predatory waterhorse. Ash’s scent was muddier than Augus’, but it was distinct, different to everyone else in the bar.

He made his way through the crowd at the front, taller than everyone he passed. He made his way past occupied stools, past a first counter that served beer on tap and was clamouring, and then past a quiet second counter that only served distilled liquors, displaying a range of whiskey, vodka, bourbon in glass cabinets.

Ash was right at the back, leaning back against a large, curved black leather couch designed for at least ten people. He sat alone in the centre of it. A low coffee table before him held empty shot and pint glasses. He wore what the humans wore, jeans and human shoes, a human shirt that looked like it was entirely synthetic; collared, buttoned, brown, a starburst print along one side.

But it was the _crown_ that he was wearing upon his curly, damp hair – longer than Gwyn could remember seeing it – that sent a flash of outrage through him.

That was against fae law. One did not take artefacts like that into the human world! Perhaps it was false. There was a chance it could be false.

‘Are you wearing your crown?’ Gwyn said, voice clipped.

Ash’s eyes opened. Gwyn could suddenly see how intoxicated he was. There was confusion there, and then a dim clarity. Ash laughed; a lazy, drunk roll of laughter that was more cynicism than anything Gwyn had ever heard of out him.

‘Fucking _yes._ It’s a joke. Get it?’

Gwyn swallowed. Ash’s expression darkened, his eyebrows lowered into a glare. He stared at Gwyn hard.

‘Sometimes this happens before the blackouts,’ Ash slurred. ‘You come. You fuck up. You leave. How about you just fucking _leave.’_

Gwyn was surprised, horrified. That Ash hallucinated him when drunk left him feeling seasick. He’d betrayed Ash. He’d promised to give Augus back to the Unseelie Court when he never, ever had any intention of doing so. It didn’t matter what his motivations were, it was a terrible thing to have done, especially after asking Ash to do what he inevitably did.

And now Gulvi was struggling and Ash was like this and-

Ash suddenly pushed himself upright, one hand slipping on the couch, looking like he was about to crawl over the table. His eyes flashed with rage. Gwyn had seen that expression on his face before, just once, when he’d defeated Augus.

Glasses fell, one rolled off and shattered on the floor. And then another as Ash got his knee onto the coffee table and looked like he was about to launch himself headlong into Gwyn.

Gwyn shifted into a fighting stance just as the bartender at the second counter saw them.

_‘Oi!’_ he shouted at Ash. ‘You settle down!’

‘Right, right, sorry,’ Ash called, staring hate at Gwyn before slumping clumsily back into the chair. ‘Was a joke.’

He offered Gwyn a bright smile that was suddenly flooded with more than his usual amount of glamour – and he already had it in abundance. Gwyn felt it as a tingling, distracting warmth. It was nothing like Augus’ natural glamour, which was quietly persuasive, encouraged one to trust. Ash’s glamour made one feel warm and contained in something, it was disarming. Gwyn never felt like that naturally, he didn’t know people _could._

‘Pull up a fucking chair, _King,’_ Ash drawled.

Secrets hid in Gwyn’s pockets. A scrap of parchment that would be cause for him to be put to death just for _having_ it. He was painfully aware of it as he pulled up one of the low chairs nearby and then sat facing Ash, the coffee table between them.

‘You’re lucky I’m smashed and that I like the barkeep,’ Ash said, the excess dra’ocht falling away and a toothier, glittering animosity lurking in his eyes. Ash who had the reputation of loving everyone, being cheerful always, but not in this context. He wondered how many people had ever seen Ash like this.

Maybe he was the only one who had the honour.

A coil of disgust moved through him. Augus was in trouble and Ash wasn’t looking for a way to release him. He was here, or in places very much like this one, drinking himself into oblivion and shirking his responsibilities.

Ash picked up an almost empty bottle of whisky from where it was resting on the floor, shifted two of the snifter glasses that were on the table upright and poured a generous amount into each. His hand was shaking. Whiskey spilled out of both.

‘Here, have a drink. That’s the polite thing to do, isn’t it? Doesn’t this remind you of when you got me all that whiskey, and then asked me to fuck up my brother? It should.’

He pushed the glass to Gwyn, flicking his eyes up and smirking. In that moment he looked so much like Augus it was almost painful. But then the smirk disappeared and all Gwyn saw was the lopsided crown, a faint yellowing bruise on the top of his cheekbone where he’d received a punch at some point, a crooked, sad smile. He raised his glass in a mock toast and Gwyn raised his own, because he needed Ash yet again, because he owed Ash a lot.

Ash looked surprised at Gwyn raising his glass, and then something wicked stole over his face.

‘Here’s to Gwyn, the one who fucks up everything he touches.’

Ash downed the whiskey all at once. His eyes never left Gwyn’s face.

Something black moved through Gwyn and he did the same thing, because it was true enough. His mother would certainly toast to it.

Ash looked mildly surprised and then all expressions drifted off his face so that he was just staring at Gwyn, waiting.

‘You should be helping Gulvi,’ Gwyn said.

Ash closed his eyes, he looked exhausted.

‘She says it’s better when I’m not there.’

‘Perhaps because you are either in a constant state of inebriation or hung-over.’

‘I wonder why though.’ Ash’s eyes flew open. ‘Huh? Why the fuck do you think that is? What are you even fucking doing to him? He’s my _brother,_ what did you do to him to make him like that in your throne-room? I think you’re capable of fucking up anything, that’s what I think. I used to think you weren’t actually so bad, and I can be a pretty good read of character, so joke’s on me, right? It’s all a fucking joke.’

Ash poured himself another glass of whiskey and downed it, staring off into the distance, before turning a sharp smile on Gwyn. He looked dangerous.

‘How about you tell me what the _fuck_ you’re doing here?’

Gwyn reached into his pocket and drew out a tiny, folded slip of parchment. He held it pinched tightly between his thumb and forefinger. He didn’t want to give this away. The old lore had been right, he _needed_ Ash for this, but Ash wasn’t reliable and he had no reason to be. Not only that, but Gwyn couldn’t do this part himself. He couldn’t just line Ash up into the right position like a weapon, and fire him off. Ash had to do this part, and Ash wasn’t fit to do anything except drink himself to blackout, apparently.

‘If this is you wanting something from me again, you can go fuck yourself,’ Ash muttered. ‘I spend how fucking long banging on the Seelie Court doors trying to get your attention, and you come find me here because you need something from me? You’re a selfish, sadistic asshole. And as for me not helping Gulvi, maybe if she hadn’t _drugged_ me, I’d be-’

‘You are a fool,’ Gwyn spat, knowing how difficult Gulvi had found the whole experience. ‘She did that for _you._ For _your_ wellbeing. Punishing her for protecting you is-’

‘Nope,’ Ash said. ‘How about no? How about we talk about how you put her in power, and how you knew all along that you were going to do that, and _she_ never told me squat about it because she wanted my brother gone? I love her like the sister I never wanted, but so help me, Augus has been through enough.’

Gwyn swallowed. He unfolded the parchment carefully and stared at his own handwriting.

‘I happen to agree with you.’

Ash opened his mouth to retort, and then paused. His eyebrows pulled together.

‘What?’

Gwyn looked around furtively. There were no other fae here, there was no reason to be suspicious, but this was...

Once he started on this road, it would likely spell devastating consequences for himself if it worked. He could never justify what he was about to do.

He stared down at the parchment, fluttering in his hands, trembling with movement of his fingers.

‘Now I know I’m not hallucinating.’

Ash slid forwards on his chair, rested his forearms on his knees, leaned towards Gwyn. He stared at the parchment.

‘So what’s the trick? You get me to do something that will land _me_ in prison next?’

‘You’re paranoid.’

‘Am I?’ Ash laughed. ‘Maybe. I can’t tell why. I mean, it wouldn’t be that you and Gulvi are manipulative fuckers, and that-’

‘Have you _met_ your brother?’ Gwyn said, incredulous.

‘He’s _my_ manipulative fucker,’ Ash said. ‘What are you holding? Give it over.’

Gwyn pulled the parchment back, stared at it.

_If you do this..._

Gwyn cleared his throat.

‘It’s...come to my attention that Augus may be unfairly imprisoned in the Seelie Court, and so-’

‘Give him to us,’ Ash said immediately. ‘Like you fucking said you would.’

_‘Hang on,’_ Gwyn ground out. ‘It’s come to my attention that Augus – for all of his crimes – may have...’

He hadn’t thought this through. He couldn’t just say, ‘I care about him and I don’t want to be his captor anymore.’

‘You have to understand that releasing Augus is problematic. The fae world will need a testimony, some sort of proof that he wouldn’t attack the Kingdoms again. They would need something binding. Something even greater than a blood-oath, even one publically taken.’

‘Firstly, there’s nothing greater than a blood-oath, and secondly, this is batshit even for you, Gwyn. If you’re gonna trick me, you might as well-’

‘It’s no trick,’ Gwyn said, pulling his chair in closer, grateful for the thick coating of noise around them. ‘But I need your help.’

‘Oh,’ Ash purred. ‘Oh, do you? You need _my_ help? You’ve needed my help before. This is gonna sound really familiar, but how about go fuck yourself? How about, the last time I helped you, thinking I’d get something out of the bargain, you fucked me over, and you destroyed my brother. I _saw_ him, Gwyn, I fucking _saw_ him.’

‘I asked him to behave that way, so that he would not be killed!’ Gwyn shouted, and then cringed when several people looked in their direction.

‘You’re a liar,’ Ash said. ‘Everything that comes out of your mouth is a lie. You want something, so you lie to get it. I looked into you, after everything. I know what your reputation is on a battlefield, it’s not just brute strength is it? You’ll lie to anyone if it’ll get you the victory you need. That’s all you care about. Your centre should be deceit.’

‘Then at least believe that I want to succeed in releasing him, and that if I do lie to you, it is to that end.’

‘He making your life difficult then? Give him to us.’

‘And? What of Gulvi? How long do you think he would last in the Unseelie Court?’

Ash opened his mouth to retort and then settled on a glower. Finally he made a sound of disgust and looked past Gwyn into the crowd. It was such a well-worn expression that Gwyn wondered how often he’d been making it. In that moment he looked not like the young-at-heart, cheerful fae that everyone was familiar with, but ancient and haunted.

‘There is something stronger than a blood-oath,’ Gwyn said, his voice breaking on revealing even this much. ‘There _is._ I cannot visit the Mage who knows of this magic, because I cannot technically _know_ of it. And if he asks you where you found this parchment, you must tell him that you found it yourself. I cannot be a part of this. No one can know. And I do not tell you to do this, I cannot make you. It is...if you do this, it is a responsibility beyond imagining. A burden beyond scope.’

Ash beckoned for the parchment with his fingers, and reluctantly, Gwyn handed it over. As soon as it was in reach, Ash snatched it up and away, eyes moving over it. They roved over the text quickly, widened, and then he held the paper closer to his face and combed over all of the words, lips pursed.

He looked up, stared at Gwyn in horror.

‘This is illegal.’

‘The fae would believe you capable of doing _anything_ if it would save Augus, they wouldn’t begrudge you this.’

‘This doesn’t even...this doesn’t exist! This is _myth,_ this is what fae tell their children, like humans tell their kids about _us._ ’

‘I can assure you it does exist.’

Ash took several deep breaths, stared back at the parchment. Expressions chased their way over his face, transparent and poignant. A twist of his features to indicate pain, and then a brightening, a rise of his eyebrows and there was _hope,_ and then all traces of that were chased away with the narrowing of his eyes, the jumping muscles in his jaw as he clenched his teeth.

‘So, let me get this straight. And bear with me, because I’m a _little_ tipsy.’ Ash laughed at himself. ‘You want me to do go to a strange Mage, ask him about illegal magic, because _you_ have had an apparent attack of conscience and have come up with a solution that will allow you to – if I go through with this – kill both of us _at the same time?’_

Gwyn winced.

‘Do you not see?’ Gwyn implored. ‘Do you not see that if you are tied to him in this way, the fae who adore you will think twice before harming him? Of course it won’t matter to everyone, or matter _enough_ to some, but it _will_ matter. If Augus agrees to the exchange, the _price_ of it, then some fae will re-address how they feel about him. All fae know how much he loves you, they know he would never agree to this if it meant you coming to harm. And I cannot _make_ either of you do this. You must decide for yourself, you must source the Mage, do whatever he requires of you to do in exchange for the magic. You must hope the Mage is sympathetic to your plight, for he is not Unseelie. Only you can be the one to decide if Augus is worth this, and if you are ready for the consequences of it.’

Ash was staring at him like he’d been punched in the face, his jaw hung open, his eyes were wide, but in all other ways his face was slack. Finally he gathered himself slowly, sliding his mouth shut, staring back down at the parchment.

‘Think about it,’ Gwyn said, his voice returning to the indifference he preferred. He stood up. ‘If you decide it’s something you want to do, then come to me once you’ve seen the Mage and have been granted the knowledge to perform this. Do not come back sooner. And if you decide not to do it at all, destroy the parchment and do not come back at all. You will not get an audience with your brother until you have shown me that you are serious about his release.’

Ash sneered at him, laughed like he couldn’t believe what Gwyn had just said.

‘One day,’ Ash said, ‘I will revisit on you _everything_ that you’ve done to Augus. People think I’m not really capable, and you know, I didn’t think I was either. But give a guy enough incentive, and it turns out revenge fantasies are really fucking satisfying. I don’t care how strong you are. I don’t care what your reputation is. You will never see me coming. I don’t even want you dead anymore, I just want you _hurting.’_

Gwyn stood up. He didn’t have to listen to this. He wasn’t a stranger to death-threats, but hearing them from Ash was...not like hearing them from anyone else. And he didn’t like the urge he felt to defend himself.

‘Oh man, you’re leaving? What a shame,’ Ash laughed.

‘Sober up,’ Gwyn said coldly, glaring at him. ‘Augus would be disappointed in you if he saw you like this.’

He turned and stalked away, catching a spluttered:

‘What the fuck would you know?!’

Ash didn’t come after him – likely couldn’t given how drunk he was – and Gwyn’s heart was pounding because he had no idea, absolutely none, if Ash would even remember this conversation. He’d told himself he wasn’t going to push the issue. Ash had to come to the decision to do this on his own.

He felt shaken, because this was it. He was beginning to enact a plan that would see Augus released. He still didn’t know exactly how he felt about it. Only that it was the right thing to do, no matter what the consequences.

And now he had to look to the second part of the plan. He had to visit with an Unseelie fae in the Philippines. He would need several weeks to prepare himself for it, to do more research but...it was a disturbing prospect. The only fae available to approach about getting Augus additional powers to make him stronger, were those who had reputations that were...unsavoury.

Then again, Gwyn could handle a great deal. He was sure he would be fine.

He had to be.

*

Days passed and he didn’t hear from Ash again. He didn’t expect to hear from him so soon, but nerves had set in. He wasn’t accustomed to them. He didn’t get them before battle. He didn’t get them while hunting. Nerves got in the way. The strange, lancing brightness that turned his senses upside down he typically only associated with scenes with Augus, his family, the moments before committing to falling asleep when he knew a nightmare was coming, or – sometimes – in the interstices between each puppy being whelped, the excitement of wondering what sex, what colour, whether it would be healthy, whether he would need to breathe life into it to make sure it survived.

It made him far jumpier than usual, and he became increasingly suspicious. He wondered at the motives of everyone in the Seelie Court. He watched Crielle and knew that she had plans for him, even if he didn’t know what they were. He tapped his feet when people weren’t looking, he drummed his fingers on walls as he passed them.

He was wound up and made tight with it.

The first time he saw Augus again after visiting Ash, he felt tied down with guilt. He’d seen Ash without telling Augus, he had no intentions of telling him, and he knew how badly Augus wanted to even get a glimpse of his brother again, let alone hold a conversation with him. He could guess how upset Augus would be if he knew the state that Ash was in.

He looked at Augus and saw parts of his brother in his face, his body. He saw the way they must have borrowed each other’s expressions, having spent so long living together when growing up. Ash didn’t share a lot of the same moods as Augus, but there was overlap, in the way they’d raise or furrow their eyebrows, how their eyelids would fall when they were being scathing, a similar smirk. There were differences too. Ash’s smile when genuine was a cheerful, friendly, inviting thing. Augus’ smile – the few times Gwyn had seen it – was private and shy, and his eyes didn’t glitter unless he was in the mood for mischief of malice.

And these things distracted him, along with the sense that he had hurt these brothers when they’d already been hurt by another. That no one had the right. There were some connections in the world that deserved to remain undamaged, as close to inviolate as possible.

Gwyn and Augus were in the kitchens once more. Augus had made another salad for himself, the trows having welcomed him into the space and happy for him to pick at their forage. It looked off-putting to Gwyn, but then he didn’t spend the first few decades of his life strictly vegetarian, as Augus had.

Gwyn was scooping marrow out of a roasted, split elk bone. It was rich and creamy, satisfied a craving in him for blood. Augus watched him with a sharp gaze.

‘You’re on edge,’ Augus said suddenly, setting his fork down and folding his arms. ‘Why?’

Gwyn ignored him, licked marrow off his own marrow fork, not wanting to ruin the experience with a discussion that would sour quickly. But he could feel Augus’ gaze on him, and eventually he sighed and lowered the bone back to the plate.

‘I’m eating,’ Gwyn said.

‘You’re savouring that marrow as though you’d like to hunt someone down and split their bones yourself. You can’t see your expression, but I can. Is this how it starts? Do you feel like _hunting_ something?’

Gwyn’s teeth clenched. Augus leaned forwards, mouth pulling together before it broadened into a smile of realisation.

‘ _Have you?’_ Augus said. ‘Have you ever opened your mouth to the flying blood and bone and gore in battle by _accident,_ because let’s pretend it was, and tasted your brethren? Have you?’

Gwyn stood up, took the bones with him. He didn’t want to have this conversation with Augus. He felt cold, suddenly. There were things he didn’t need anyone to know. Ever. He couldn’t always help what he became once bloodlust overtook him and he became a berserker.

‘Enjoy your salad,’ Gwyn said, and Augus smirked.

‘I am. Thank you. Enjoy stuffing down your desires again, and becoming the repressed creature you usually are.’

As Gwyn left, he threw Augus an unimpressed glare over his shoulder.

Augus only laughed.

*

A darkness coiled and built inside of him. It was a twisted, gnarled thing, spreading along his veins, making him feel harder from the inside out. And pumping along blood vessels was the never-ending light. It didn’t matter how often he imprisoned it, how often he mentally threw it down, it always came back up again, voracious and blistering.

There were public training arenas in the Seelie Court, and his own, private training spaces in his palatial rooms. Places where he could train and no one could see him. Where he could push himself beyond breaking point and no one would bother him with questions like, ‘Are you okay?’ Where he could sate the light and the darkness both by working himself so harshly that he often collapsed, muscles twitching, nausea a cold curl in the back of his throat.

It was that, or he’d end up hurting someone else.

The sun had been up for a few hours, but Gwyn had been up for far longer, working with his long-sword, smashing through dummies and targets, bleeding from several places where slivers of wood had flown into his skin. He’d pulled them all out, uncaring, and kept moving. And if he still felt the nerves and the darkness and the wringing heat of the light he would go out and hunt later.

But first, this.

He smashed through a new drill he’d been developing, a new style that was harder on his body, but far more brutal. And with a single strike, he ploughed through a wooden dummy that he’d set up specially for it. Wood cracked, sprayed everywhere. A shard of it flew into his skin just above his eye and he ripped it out. The pain was distracting, frustrating.

His hand came up to cover the sudden flow of blood; head wounds always bled so disproportionately to the wound itself.

He’d nearly lost an eye.

The thought made him laugh. It was an effective style, but the risks of blowback – even shrapnel from the plate armour of whomever he was fighting – was high. He wouldn’t teach it to his soldiers, it was far too dangerous, and possibly required more strength than many of them had; but he could use it himself.

He turned, sword hanging at his side, point scraping a loud screech onto the stone floor, only to see Augus standing there, watching him.

Gwyn stared with his uncovered eye. He hadn’t noticed, hadn’t even _sensed_ him.

That was the other reason he did this sort of training on his own.

His skin prickled, he frowned. Augus walked over to him, raising an eyebrow at the splintered wreckage of multiple wooden dummies on the floor.

He was dressed more formally than usual. He’d managed to scrounge up a high quality rapier from somewhere – likely one of Gwyn’s many weapons storage rooms – it was belted to his left-hand side. He wore boots with heels, the buckles gleaming silver. It was startling. He was wearing the sort of clothing he wore when he used to be King. Even his hair was partially kept back from his face, the rubbery waterweed catching the coarse strands of his mane and keeping them back, accentuating his jaw.

His heart – already beating painfully – skipped in his chest. It was a conscious effort not to press his hand to it. But one hand was holding the hilt of his sword, and the other was doing a poor job of staunching the blood flowing from his eye.

Augus drew out a white handkerchief from his pants pocket and handed it to him. Gwyn lowered his hand from his eye, turned and flicked blood off his fingers and then took up the small piece of white cloth. He held it to the wound. Augus watched him, then grimaced.

‘You’re unstable.’

‘I’m training,’ Gwyn said.

‘No, you’re not,’ Augus said. ‘I’m not one of your myopic Seelie Court members, fawning for a status but not _noticing_ what’s going on around me. I have one person to focus on in this Court, and it’s you. Perhaps if you don’t want me to notice what’s going on, you shouldn’t have spilled so many of your secrets around me.’

Gwyn sheathed his sword, then unbelted it all at once, walking past Augus to lean it against the wall.

‘If you have a death wish,’ Augus said, ‘We’ll go use it, shall we?’

Gwyn spun around to face him.

‘Let’s go have a look at this light of yours,’ Augus said, ‘that you think will consume you from the inside out. That you think might destroy the world.’

Gwyn laughed again, a brittle sound.

‘Are you going to ask me to step up to a cross again?’

‘No,’ Augus said, allowing himself a half-smile. ‘I learned my lesson. Did you learn yours? I want to go to the first Estate. The one where you let loose when you were a child. I want to see this place that gives you nightmares still.’

Gwyn stared at him. He forgot, momentarily, everything except the pressure of the handkerchief over the top of his eye. He couldn’t understand why _anyone_ would want to see that. Didn’t they understand that it would be _monstrous?_

‘Think of it as an excursion, I’d also like to get out of the Seelie Court for a little while. Even for only five minutes, Gwyn.’

Augus shifted his weight onto one hip and cocked his head to the side.

‘I don’t want to torment you over it, I only want to understand.’

‘I told you. Everything is dead. Everything is still dead. You Blighted enough lakes and waterways yourself, you can imagine what that’s like.’

Augus twitched, straightened, glared at Gwyn. For all that he professed to feeling no guilt about what had happened, he didn’t like being reminded of the landscapes he had ruined.

‘Why are you so afraid to show me?’ Augus said, keeping his voice soft. For once, there was no mischievous light in his eyes. But Augus’ seriousness was something that Gwyn had also become wary of. His concern could be just as threatening.

‘I’m not afraid,’ Gwyn said, even though that was exactly what was curdling inside of him.

‘Then show me,’ Augus said. ‘I only want to see. I know you’re Unseelie. You’ve told me about Mafydd. You cannot let one person know about this? It shouldn’t only be your family who gets to judge you on your light. Believe me when I say that they often have no idea what they’re talking about, when it comes to you.’

‘You’d wait until I’m unstable to ask this of me? Do you _want_ me to become worse?’ Gwyn felt bewildered.

‘No,’ Augus said, pursing his lips. ‘I don’t think you have a family curse. I think you have a need to express something that is innate and inherent, and you suppress it and become _this_ instead.’

He waved his hand at Gwyn, at the wound on his eye.

‘I think you need to not be here in this Court for a little while. And I’m _bored.’_

‘Ah, the truth comes out.’

Augus smirked at him. He walked up to Gwyn, placed a cool hand on his flesh, curled fingers around his arm, pressed his thumb into muscle.

‘It’s warded land, isn’t it? They wrapped pretty little spells around all the damage to make sure no one can see in. It’s one of the few places we could both go without being seen by other fae. I’m not interested in escaping – at least, not _now._ And I know you’re afraid, and I don’t believe this is a fear you need to have.’

‘Then you’re a naive idiot,’ Gwyn snapped.

He growled when Augus’ hand became a soft palm smoothing up to his shoulder, rubbing at his collarbone. He wanted Augus to fight him, wanted to push him down, thread his fingers through his hair and knot it up in his hand. He wanted Augus wincing and backing away and promising never again to bring up the subject.

Augus was right, he was afraid.

Augus wouldn’t let it go. But he wasn’t asking to see Gwyn’s light, was he? Only to see the true aftermath of it. But even that was harder to do than it first seemed.

He had bad memories associated with the place, the event. It had felt like he’d been getting eaten alive. No battle had ever been as frightening.

‘Have you ever felt as though...’ Gwyn stared off into the distance.

‘Yes?’ Augus said, bringing up his other hand and pressing his fingers to Gwyn’s other shoulder. He made two points of connection that Gwyn wanted to step away from. He found himself unable, paralysed, wanting to press closer.

He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t tell Augus that he was more frightened of his power than he was battle or war or torture. He reached out with a single hand and grasped Augus’ arm roughly, cast his mind to the Estate, then swallowed down nausea as he teleported them both away.

*

First, the smell of it. Even so many years later, the char of it. Wind had eroded some of the landscape, but the dead plants and grasses had stayed tenuously anchored to the soil, as though something in Gwyn’s light had mummified the scene. Everything was black, brown, twisted, except for the three quarters of the Estate that were still whole, preserved by that peculiar fae magic that didn’t allow things to crumble and fail with the passing of time.

Gwyn had been all over the world – human, fae, even an underworld or two. This reminded him of nuclear bombs, of meteor strikes, of cataclysmic explosions. Only he was ground zero and he hadn’t wanted to stop. He’d thought that, as he got older, the square kilometres of damage would seem less frightening, less imposing. He had – after all – gotten much taller.

It made no difference.

Augus stepped away from him. A cool breeze ruffled his damp hair, brought the scent of burnt, dead land with it. His boots crunched over dead fauna and flora, his heels sunk into soil that had been fertile, turned instantly to friable sand.

Gwyn watched him, dread a sharp hook in his belly.

Augus turned slowly, his eyes wide, mouth open. His eyes widened even further when they saw the obliterated chunk eaten out of the Estate, like some impossible giant had come along and taken a blackened bite from one side of it.

Servants and housekeep had died.

He’d always thought of Mafydd as the first life he’d ever taken, but it wasn’t true. Mafydd’s was just the first that he’d known about as he’d done it.

Gwyn hated it here. He threw down the handkerchief, the wound having finally stopped bleeding, already coagulating. He stared around wishing there was some corner of the land, some space that hadn’t been destroyed, but no. There was no safe place for his eyes to rest.

‘And you say this was only a short amount of time? That you didn’t even feel like you were close to finishing?’ Augus said. There was some strange brightness in his eyes.

‘I want to leave,’ Gwyn said, folding his arms around himself. ‘You’ve seen it.’

Augus turned back to him and frowned, noticed the way he was standing.

‘What did it feel like?’

‘Like I was being eaten. I want to leave.’

His breathing was coming faster, he felt a wave of dizziness overcome him and he stumbled backwards.

Augus was in front of him in an instant, both of his hands coming up, palms forward to block his sight. Gwyn went to step away, unsure what he was doing, but Augus followed him, made a soothing noise like he was an _animal._ And Gwyn felt outraged, would have struck out, except beneath the outrage was an older, primal need to just not be so afraid. He closed his eyes. He felt hands against them, wanting him to stop looking. And he wanted, very much, to not see it anymore. He focused on Augus.

‘Is that why you don’t use it?’ Augus said, his voice very quiet.

‘It still feels like that,’ Gwyn muttered. ‘Not as bad, but...sometimes.’

‘Look at you, stringing more than one word together about it. I couldn’t get this out of you with knives and a cross.’

Gwyn took a deep breath and held it. He could still smell it. And he remembered his father taking him away afterwards and sitting him down and telling him that he was _Unseelie._ He couldn’t believe it at the time, and yet it made so much sense, it explained why his family treated him the way that they did. He was old enough to know that it was a terrible thing to be. It was an awful thing. His family were so proud that they’d been Seelie forever, and there he was, a stain on the family tree.

That was what his mother called him, and that was what he was.

‘I don’t like being here,’ Gwyn said.

‘There are Unseelie fae with terrible powers, like yours,’ Augus said. ‘They all have a right to live. You’ve even advocated for them. For a while there, you were one of the strongest voices we had in support of co-Kingdom cooperation. There are fae who eat infants, who feed off torture, who can only feed if they meet a certain kill count, who can _only_ eat innocent – the most _innocent_ of children, and more besides. There are fae who eat languages and memories right out of people’s heads, even fae who feed on happiness and dreams and hope and those things that we need whether we’re Seelie or Unseelie. What is the difference between those fae that you have advocated for, that you believe deserve to have a place in this world, and yourself?’

Gwyn said nothing, could say nothing that Augus would believe. He pressed his lips together, smelled the landscape around him.

‘It is so dead, Augus. It is unrecoverable. Even your Blight...the land is returning very slowly. Already.’

‘Is it dead?’ Augus said.

‘It’s been _three thousand years.’_

‘Keep your eyes closed,’ Augus commanded, using a voice he normally reserved for scenes. And somehow that was anchoring. Gwyn found it easier to keep his eyes closed even as Augus stepped away and he felt the light of the day on his eyelids. Gwyn sensed him bend down to the ground, heard him scoop some of the sand into his palms.

And then nothing but a faint hum of energy around him. He didn’t know what that was. He only knew it was coming from Augus.

‘Ah, well, this only shows what you know, doesn’t it? Look.’

Gwyn opened his eyes cautiously, looked at a cupped handful of sand and dead things in Augus’ palms. Augus tilted his hands slightly, looked down at a specific point, and Gwyn leaned closer.

He gasped sharply, his hands clenched.

_No. No it couldn’t be. He said it was dead forever._

‘F-father said-’

‘Nothing lasts forever,’ Augus said, as they both looked at the tiny blade of grass that had poked up a centimetre from the sand itself. ‘And maybe it will take another two thousand years for this land to recover, but it will recover. I cannot make life appear from nothing. There has to be something there for me to pull from. I’ll admit it wasn’t easy, but I think that only means it will take some time.’

‘Maybe a seed blew into the region,’ Gwyn said, and Augus laughed.

‘Do you think I can’t tell the difference between a seed that is hale and whole, and the tiny little burnt thing I found in this handful of dirt? I’ve been calling up flora for about as long as you’ve been cutting things down with a sword, I know the difference.’

And then Augus let the soil fall to the ground, as though the blade of grass was not the miracle that Gwyn knew it to be. He dusted off his palms, then deliberately reached forwards and brushed them off on Gwyn’s shirt.

One of his hands came up and pressed over Gwyn’s heart, measuring it’s beat.

‘Does the teleportation hurt you?’

‘No,’ Gwyn said. ‘No, it never has. It used to feel prickly, but that soon stopped. Now it just feels...warm, I suppose.’

Augus hummed in acknowledgement, even as he curved his other hand over Gwyn’s hip. He seemed reluctant to stop touching him, and Gwyn didn’t want him to. His stared at the soil Augus had dropped. He couldn’t see the blade of grass anymore, it was easy to pretend it hadn’t been there at all. And could it even grow, now that it had been called? How much could the land recover? And did it matter, when the power was so destructive in the first place?

‘I was informed that you constructed a barrier when you came against me at the school. A barrier for the Nain Rouge and her weapons. Why do you not use it in battle more often?’

‘I was desperate,’ Gwyn said. ‘Most fae don’t fight with guns.’

‘Desperate,’ Augus said, pensive. ‘And the light you used to attack my dome, also desperation? How did you do that? Get it through the water like that? I was a _King,_ and you were attacking me from a significant distance. It was so _powerful._ Did that feel like it was eating you?’

_‘Yes,’_ Gwyn said, and he stepped away from Augus’ touch, folding his arms around himself once more. Augus followed. But he looked concerned, puzzled, rather than gleeful. There was, however, a hunger in his eyes. Something avid that made his green irises glow.

Augus still didn’t _understand._

‘Why do you want to see it!’ Gwyn shouted. ‘No one wants to see it! _Look at what it did!’_

‘This doesn’t upset me,’ Augus said, casually waving his hand at the landscape without even looking at it. ‘It certainly feels destructive, and I wouldn’t want your power anywhere near my _lake_ – if I ever get to have one of my own again – but if you expected me to be terrified, you’re mistaken. I can certainly see that it’s something to respect. I...’

Augus closed the gap between them, reached up slowly with his hands, placed fingertips at his cheekbones.

‘Close your eyes again,’ Augus said.

After several deep, shaky breaths, Gwyn did. And immediately he felt fingers resting over his eyes, blocking the world out. He didn’t know why it helped, he’d _never_ liked blindfolds. Not _ever._

But this was...acceptable.

‘I’m going to ask you something and you’re not going to want to say yes.’

Gwyn made a small sound of frustration in his throat.

‘Hear me out,’ Augus said, keeping his voice soft. ‘You’re not rational about this. You also don’t need to be rational about it. I don’t care about that. It frustrates me that you are so powerful and you are afraid of yourself in this way. It is _dangerous_ that you don’t let your light out, if only once a year, in a controlled manner, because not doing so makes you unstable. We both know what happens when you’re unstable. There’s only one reason I didn’t die that night, when you hunted me. I was banking on you still being horrified by what you’d done to Nwython and Cyledr, which – let me emphasise this – you _also_ did because you can’t repress something this destructive without it destroying you.

‘You _can’t,_ Gwyn. It doesn’t matter that you’re adept at it. It doesn’t matter that you’ve been doing it for so long. It doesn’t get any easier, does it? And you’ve just told me it doesn’t stop you feeling like you’re being eaten by it. You worry that it will consume you, consume the world, but you haven’t let it do either of those things in three thousand years. You were _six,_ and you didn’t let it happen then. I believe you, that your light is as dangerous as you say.’ Augus laughed. ‘I do believe you. I also believe that you underestimate your self-control. I’m willing to stand here while you try again. The land is already destroyed. What more can you do to it?’

Gwyn’s breathing was uneven, his entire body felt shaky, his _lungs_ felt shaky.

‘I don’t like it,’ Gwyn heard himself say. He cringed, he sounded like he was six years old all over again.

‘Since we both know you can make the light you made to destroy my dome without destroying yourself again, I’d suggest you start there.’

Augus lowered his hands slowly, fingertips smoothing over the sides of his face before he stepped away.

‘Where do I need to stand?’ Augus said. Gwyn squeezed his eyes shut.

‘I haven’t agreed to this.’

‘Sweetness, you are the King of the Seelie fae. You have spent three thousand years in battle, fighting others, killing countless. You have lived in a Court that doesn’t want you, been tortured by a family who wanted you dead, and you’re still here. You have the survival instinct of a cockroach, I swear. And you should keep that in mind now, because it will hold you in good stead.’

It was the light that wanted him to listen to Augus. That swirled and spread inside of him, hungry. He didn’t know if it was separate to him, but it had always felt distinct. It had always seemed like it had its own desires, and those desires were to devour, to destroy, to kill. It would do anything, _anything,_ to be released again. It would take advantage of him when he was disoriented, it would lie in wait when he was about to come, it even snarled at him in his sleep.

He opened his eyes to the morning, looked up at the sun to check the time, and then stared at his own hands. They were shaking .The light was coming closer to the surface. Even though he didn’t want this, could never want this, there was a part of him that ached for it.

And Augus had raised something that hadn’t occurred to him. The land here was already destroyed. He couldn’t destroy it again. He could only delay its recovery.

This was so much easier to do when he was unthinking, when he was desperate to save someone’s life.

As soon as he opened himself to it, it would be there.

He took a deep breath, focused at a point in the distance. He laughed, because this could kill them both. He _knew_ it. He knew it in the core of himself.

‘Should I stand here?’ Augus said, ‘Or do I need to be-’

Light exploded out of Gwyn’s hands and the force of its presence sent a shockwave around them that muffled noise, sucked it into a vacuum, boomed outward. The light itself was only a small burst, the size of a large orange. It shot off into the distance, at least three or four hundred metres, before hitting the ground. It expanded briefly, then flickered into nothing, leaving a blackened crater in its wake. The palms of Gwyn’s hands were red. His forearms ached. His bones felt hollow.

He breathed out one single sob, clenched his fingers together even though it hurt to.

And then he grit his teeth against the hunger of it. _There_ it was, a darkness building inside of him, and he took several deep breaths against it. Oh, it wanted more. It was unfathomable, it was becoming harder to think.

‘It’s nothing like lightning,’ Augus said. ‘I thought...you kept saying it was a destructive light, and I had assumed it was like lightning. But it’s not, is it?’

Gwyn couldn’t say a thing. His hands were shaking where he clenched them.

He wanted to take, to _destroy._

There was too much of it.

‘Get back,’ Gwyn said, voice shaking and hoarse. _‘Get back.’_

‘Gwyn?’

_‘GET BACK!’_

He didn’t turn around to see if Augus listened to him, because his light wanted a target and there were only two targets to focus on, and it could _not_ be Augus. He made a strangled sound in his throat. He couldn’t shove the light back again, and he’d underestimated how far down the spiral of it he’d fallen. It was going to hurt.

He fell to his knees and pressed his hands into the ground, knuckling up bits of gravel and sand and dead, crumpled things into his palms.

And then there was nothing but the light, scouring him from the inside out. It was excruciating. It blistered through him, made him feel as though he was boiling in his own body. He contained it as much as he could, a war within himself to keep the light limited to himself, to stop it from expanding outwards.

In the end, it funnelled through his hands which – at the last moment – he pointed in the direction of the last shot of light. It coalesced through him, burning his forearms as it went, crackling the skin into rifts and fissures before shooting off into the distance. It hit the land with a dull boom, not sounding nearly as destructive as it was.

And still it was hungry. He could control it better than before, but he was so hungry.

A presence next to him and he snarled at it, lashing out with his hands and striking flesh. He grasped it, threw it down to the ground, and then pain. Pain in his wrists and he whimpered, because the light was hungry, and he didn’t understand.

‘By the gods,’ a voice. ‘Your _hands.’_

Gwyn risked opening his eyes and saw Augus underneath him, staring down at the hand fisted into his shirt. It was bleeding.

‘It does hurt you,’ Augus said, dismayed.

Gwyn growled at him.

He was just so _hungry._

And if he wouldn’t let the light have the world, then it would have something else instead.

Augus’ pupils dilated – fear, something else, and Gwyn grinned, bared his teeth. He lowered and struck with force, biting hard at Augus’ forearm where he was clutching onto Gwyn’s wrist. His teeth penetrated skin and he let go immediately, watching blood spill. He needed more than that, and a dull thumping reminder in his mind, annoying, it wouldn’t go _away,_ it said he _couldn’t_ rip Augus apart. It wasn’t allowed.

He had to turn one kind of hunger into another, it was the only way.

Gwyn tore Augus’ shirt open, heedless of the throbbing pain in his hands, aware only that he was so hard, he was so hungry.

And Augus _laughed._

Gwyn roared at him, ripped his clothing off, snapped the belt and rapier away and threw it down to the ground, grinned in satisfaction when he saw something like panic in Augus’ eyes.

‘Wait!’ Augus shouted. ‘Wait! I need lube, you _idiot!’_

He reached down between them even as Gwyn practically tore his own pants to get to his cock, and he was already manhandling Augus onto his stomach, onto the dirt, when Augus tugged a vial out of his pocket.

_‘Use it._ If I bleed to death because of your fucking cock, I’m taking you down with me. _’_

Gwyn upended the vial on his palm, slicking his fingers, his cock, hardly thinking. He knew he was supposed to prepare Augus, knew that he couldn’t just tear him apart, but he _wanted_ that so badly. It was a mindless, gleeful urge inside of him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so confident, so good.

That annoying voice in his head hammered at him:

_You can’t, you can’t, you can’t._

Gwyn shouted in frustration, thrust two slicked fingers into Augus without preamble, riding the small noise of pain, the lurch of Augus’ body.

But Augus was breathlessly laughing after that, something almost maniacal on his face.

Augus’ was impossibly tight around his fingers, and Gwyn thrust back and forth roughly, not caring about the sting in his own hands and fingers. He needed _something,_ the light was still there and he couldn’t shove it away, he was only barely holding it back.

‘Fuck,’ Gwyn rasped.

He felt no regret, no hesitancy when he yanked Augus up onto his hands and knees. Lust rocketed through him as he fisted himself in his own hand and then squeezed his way into Augus’ body. And Augus shouted at it, gave up sounds that were pained and loud and Gwyn rocked forwards. Moaned in satisfaction as he seated himself, stopping Augus from collapsing forwards by holding him upright with his arms.

And then it was movement, gasping, holding his light back. And he could feel it become easier, it bled away, trickled back down until it clustered as a ball inside of him. He made several sounds of relief, and only then realised what he was doing, who he was doing it to.

He didn’t want to stop.

Augus was making noises torn between pain and arousal. They were thick, loud things, and Augus trembled, clothing hanging shredded from his body, skin exposed. And Gwyn hadn’t realised how pale his olive skin had become until he could see it now in broad daylight. He could also see the deep green shine of his black hair, could see his hand digging into the soil.

Gwyn wrapped both of his arms around Augus’ torso and lifted him so that his hands were no longer touching the ground. Augus scrabbled wildly before clutching at Gwyn’s forearms, as Gwyn thrust deep.

Augus wailed.

‘Fuck!’ Augus shouted, as he caught his breath. ‘ _Fuck_ you.’

‘You wanted the light,’ Gwyn rasped.

He tilted Augus back further, staying pressed deep inside of him, the tightness of Augus a vice around him. He shifted their positions until he was kneeling and Augus’ legs were splayed on either side of his. He was holding Augus up with one arm banded across his torso, keeping his hips against his own, making sure he couldn’t move.

His other hand brushed against Augus’ cock, surprised to feel that it was hard, precome already leaking from it. He gathered it up in his fingers, smoothed it around the head of him, and then took him in a grip that was too rough. Augus jerked against him.

Gwyn hardly cared. He was staring out into the wasteland, filled with an increasing amount of self-loathing. He was coming back to himself, he didn’t want to.

‘Look at it,’ Gwyn snarled. _‘Look.’_

‘I am...looking,’ Augus said. ‘It’s beautiful. Think of what you could _do_ with it.’

Frustration roared through him. Why did Augus always misunderstand him? Why?

He thrust roughly inside him, chasing his own release, venting his anger. And Augus laughed in time with it, moaned a sound that expressed pleasure and pain both.

‘You can’t hurt me into changing my mind, Gwyn. You can’t... _fuck_ it out of me.’

But Gwyn wasn’t listening. His own release was close, and the light wasn’t bearing down on him anymore. He’d managed to pull it back, and it was more sated than usual because he’d used it twice. Pleasure was finding him and his skin didn’t hurt as much as it usually did. Light wasn’t searing the underside of his skin. It wasn’t anything more than his forearms and hands hurting where the light had turned them raw. And they were healing, would heal soon.

He shifted his hand away from Augus’ cock to get a better grip on him and pursued his own pleasure, sounds muffled in the back of Augus’ shoulder as he came. It moved through him in such a powerful rush his vision went black, but it was an absent pleasure, a hungry, monstrous thing. It wasn’t like when Augus led him through a scene.

It was like what he found immediately off a battlefield, when he dragged a soldier off into the woods.

He shivered violently when he was done, withdrew as he settled back on his own heels.

And immediately Augus stood shakily, cursing at something, and then a rough hand was in Gwyn’s hair twisting it up so fiercely that he winced. He blinked back to startled awareness as Augus’ other hand jerked himself off rapidly, his breath coming fast. Augus stared down at him, a hard, amused expression on his face.

Gwyn blinked in shock when he realised what Augus was doing, he tried to tip backwards, away, and Augus growled at him.

‘You _stay.’_

‘Augus...’

Augus shook his head roughly, and Gwyn whined at it; overwhelmed, spent, shaking. And Gwyn tried to turn his face away, but Augus laughed at him.

‘Oh no,’ Augus said, voice hoarse. ‘Fair’s fair, Gwyn. Open your mouth.’

‘No,’ Gwyn said, though it wasn’t that he truly didn’t want to. He was bewildered, the whiplash of having been taken over so completely by the light to how he felt _now_ was almost painful.

‘Open your _fucking_ mouth,’ Augus said, sounding harder than Gwyn had ever heard him.

Gwyn opened his mouth hesitantly and Augus grinned, looking every inch a predator. Gwyn wondered if that was what he’d looked like pushing Augus down to the dirt.

And then Augus was stiffening, the hand tightened in his hair, he fisted his own cock forwards and Gwyn jerked when he felt the first stripe of come paint across his cheek and his lower lip. Augus aimed and Gwyn’s tongue, his lips, his chin were being coated with the stuff. It was searing hot.

When Augus was done, he pressed himself against Gwyn’s face and Gwyn closed his eyes. Already his mouth was closed, he was tasting Augus and feeling his own body twitch with arousal again. He shouldn’t like it, but he did.

His eyes widened when Augus hooked fingers past his lips and over his teeth, then drew his lower jaw down. And Gwyn stared up at him in surprise when Augus pressed his still hard cock into Gwyn’s mouth. His other hand angled Gwyn’s jaw upwards, made his throat easier to access, and then Gwyn was choking and trying not to choke, trying to keep his throat open. Augus was pushing down mercilessly, staring at him, and it was only when he was as far as he could go, Gwyn’s nose in the black pelt of his pubic hair, that Augus suddenly sighed and closed his eyes, took several deep breaths.

Augus reached down and drew up Gwyn’s arm, looking at the fractured wounds on his forearm and hand.

‘It does hurt you,’ Augus frowned, pressed kisses to Gwyn’s damaged fingertips. ‘I’ve never heard of that before.’

His cock was already softening in Gwyn’s mouth, but Augus didn’t move. When Gwyn started to use his tongue, Augus shook his head with a twitch.

‘I’m too sensitive for that. Just...wait,’ Augus said.

Gwyn waited.

Augus looked around the wasteland, holding Gwyn’s head to himself, keeping his lips wrapped around the base of his cock.

‘All of that power, and now look at you.’

Minutes passed, and Gwyn had closed his eyes so he didn’t have to see the wasteland peeking in his peripheral vision. He could smell and taste Augus’ seed, could feel him soft in his mouth. It was startlingly intimate, that Augus would trust him with this. And as time passed, his breathing slowed, he felt less shaky. He had one hand pressed to the jut of Augus’ hip, and the other was curved around at his lower back, pressing him close.

Augus shifted so he could smooth out Gwyn’s hair, and then he stepped back, sliding out of Gwyn’s mouth.

Gwyn leaned forward, mouth open to capture him again, and Augus painted his fingers soothingly over Gwyn’s lips. He kneeled down, licked at Gwyn’s face before pushing his tongue into Gwyn’s mouth, stroking his seed over Gwyn’s tongue. Gwyn shuddered, moaned thickly. He sucked at Augus’ tongue, and then licked at his lips as Augus withdrew and considered him.

‘You did it,’ Augus said. ‘It was hard, but you did it.’

Gwyn flushed, shook his head.

‘You’ll have to do it again,’ Augus said. ‘Because you do need to learn to control it. But you did it.’

‘I don’t want to do it again.’

‘I don’t think you’ll have many opportunities. No one can know about this. No wonder your family hid it, warded the land. It is _obviously_ Unseelie. But you will need to find a way to learn to try. And if you need me there, then I shall endeavour to be there.’

Gwyn stared at him, his heart felt like it had flipped over in his chest.

But if Gwyn had his way, Augus wouldn’t be there, because he’d be released, and hopefully as safe as he could be outside of a prison. He knew Augus needed his freedom. As much as he could get. Gwyn didn’t know how he’d ever let him go.

‘You look so sad sometimes,’ Augus said suddenly, tilting his head to the side. ‘Really, out of the two of us, I think I’ve earned the privilege a little more. That was not _nearly_ enough lubricant.’

Augus winced, and then laughed.

‘How do your soldiers survive you?’

Gwyn made a face, shrugged.

‘If you have a first aid tent,’ Augus continued, ‘I’m almost certain that half of the patients are there because of your cock.’

‘Be quiet,’ Gwyn said, blushing.

‘You did it,’ Augus whispered, leaning in and kissing his lips lightly. ‘But then you’ve always done it. Your self-control is remarkable. I know it doesn’t _feel_ that way, but it _is_ that way. You didn’t kill me, you didn’t rip me apart, you didn’t destroy the land this time, as much as you did last time. I know it must feel very frightening, and I don’t like that it hurts you, but this is your power, Gwyn. It’s your birthright. You have to know how to use it, it will be the most effective thing you have in the battle against your own madness. And it will make you more yourself.’

‘I don’t like who I become when I use it,’ Gwyn whispered.

Augus looped his arms around Gwyn’s shoulders, and Gwyn was aware of the shreds of material hanging off Augus’ body. There were bite-marks on the top of his shoulders that Gwyn couldn’t remember giving him. And Gwyn was still nearly fully dressed, still smelling of sweat from having worked through his sword fighting drills.

‘You don’t like who you are, period. Stop being the proper Seelie soldier your parents conned you into being, and accept that you are something _very_ different. I promise you, it will be worth your while.’

Gwyn squeezed his eyes shut, they burned with what Augus was saying to him. He never thought, not once in his entire life, that he would ever end up in a position like this with someone like Augus, that someone would ever deign to say these things to him. They were balms pressed up against his soul, cool where there had only been a festering heat before.

‘Unseelie,’ Gwyn said on a breath of air. The word tasted like soot and rot in his mouth. He’d never wanted to say it. It fell from his mouth like a lump of coal.

Augus stiffened, and then pressed his lips to Gwyn’s forehead. His lips were dry and cool against his overheated skin. His arms tightened around his shoulders, and one of his hands lazily stroked circles and patterns across his back. Gwyn leaned into him, and Augus encouraged it, bracing himself, always so much stronger than he appeared to someone like Gwyn, used to brawn and might. He realised he felt far more stable than he had earlier, even though he was still scared, still nervous.

‘Say it again,’ Augus said against his skin. ‘Say what you are.’

‘Unseelie,’ Gwyn whispered, smelling char and burnt land and a place that Lludd had only ever wanted to be a reminder of all he should not be. And here Augus was, not remotely perturbed. Gwyn’s heart ached.

‘Yes. _Yes,_ ’ Augus said. ‘Exactly.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, 'Corporal:' 
> 
> ‘No,’ Gwyn said. ‘What...kind of a centre is that? It can’t be, you’re...you, _you_ did this to me.’


	29. Corporal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New tag: spanking.  
> Optional tag: Albion what are you doing here for the love of god you're not helping.
> 
> *
> 
> Apologies for any formatting errors - I've tried to catch them, but there may be some strays. 
> 
> *
> 
> We're winding to the close of the third act now (leaving act four and then the end of _Game Theory_ ), things are about to get real. Realer. Realest... er. Something!!!
> 
> Feedback is so much love. You guys are great. I would be gushing more but it's been a hard week, just know I'm sort of mentally sending you all foods of your choice. <3

Augus was stressed.

Gwyn could tell, because apparently the way Augus dealt with stress was to try and displace it onto others in the most aggravating ways possible.

And between sorting out the affairs of the Seelie Court, dealing with investigating more deeply into his mother and her actions without having her suspect him ( _and,_ he thought, _failing_ ), waiting for Ash to get in contact with him and still fearing he wouldn’t actually remember their meeting...dealing with Augus’ increasingly cutting remarks and his attempts to incite Gwyn into argument was starting to wear.

Not only that, but Gwyn was sorting out his own private affairs. He was waiting to hear back from correspondence he had sent to the horse fae Tigbalan. He was on edge, if it didn’t work out, he didn’t have many other options. And he was quietly moving centuries of his own wealth – that which was separate from the Seelie Court – out of the Seelie Court. He’d always been in the habit of investing the wealth he’d gained privately from battles and exploration into different places, but he wanted to make sure he had multiple safety nets in place for himself.

The first time he’d noticed the shift in Augus’ mood, he’d been carefully notating allotments of wealth and deciding where he would store it for safekeeping. He was hunched over a desk in one of his many workrooms, only to have a sticky piece of waterweed land on the parchment and yank it out from under his hand, the fountain pen bleeding ink across the page.

It was Gwyn’s quick reflexes that allowed him to turn and grab the parchment, but it tore and Augus managed to snag the top quarter of it, and Gwyn was left with a ripped, stained page in his hand, staring at Augus in outrage.

‘What are you doing?’ Augus said, snatching up the quarter of the page left over from his own waterweed and staring at it.

‘I’m trying to get some work done. Do you _mind?’_

‘No.’

Augus sauntered closer and Gwyn hastily shuffled together the rest of the parchment. He didn’t want Augus to figure out what he was doing. After all, if his plans to release Augus failed, then Augus likely wasn’t going anywhere for some time, and then all of this work wouldn’t matter. He didn’t want Augus to suspect. He wanted it to _work._

Augus reached out for the parchments and Gwyn batted his hand away, glaring at him.

‘If you’re so bored, go find something to read.’

‘No,’ Augus said. ‘You’re far more entertaining.’

His eyes sparked, he had the smug smirk on his fight that meant he was spoiling for a fight. Gwyn only glared at him.

‘Get out, Augus. I’m not in the mood.’

‘That’s why it’s fun,’ Augus said. ‘You’re hiding things from me. Captivity is tedious. I don’t know how you put up with it.’

‘Captivity?’ Gwyn said, bewildered. ‘I’m not _captive.’_

Augus laughed at him, snatched at the parchments under Gwyn’s forearms. Gwyn stood, moved them out of the way, placed them in a drawer and locked it, pocketing the key. Augus mock-pouted, but none of the mischief had left his eyes.

‘You’re a _wonderful_ prisoner,’ Augus said. ‘You do whatever they tell you. Is it that you like to submit? Or that you just know how to live like you’re in a prison? It doesn’t really matter either way.’

Gwyn didn’t have the time or patience to deal with Augus when he was like this. Not now. Not with the amount of things that were drawing his focus, the other stresses he had in his life. Augus knew exactly where to push. Even when he was offering support, he offered it in a way that made Gwyn feel stripped raw. But when he wasn’t being supportive, and was just _baiting_ him, it was caustic.

‘Do you know what your new centre is?’ Augus said abruptly. And then his smirk tipped into a sly smile. ‘Because I do.’

Gwyn shivered. He didn’t know. He hadn’t even been thinking about it. Nothing resonated and he didn’t _want_ to know. Centres very rarely worked in his favour. Out of all four – loyalty, triumph, wildness and justice – he’d only ever liked one of them.

‘Go away, Augus.’

‘I daresay you won’t like it.’

Gwyn’s hands clenched into fists.

‘If you are so intent on aggravating me, there will be consequences.’

‘What? You’ll send me to my room? Put me over your knee? Please.’

‘Why are you being like this?’ Gwyn said, and Augus raised his eyebrows.

‘What are you hiding from me?’

Gwyn shook his head, his jaw ached with how hard he was grinding his teeth together. He thought about pushing past Augus and walking away, but Augus would only follow. Besides, Gwyn didn’t have to tell Augus every little thing going on in his life, he didn’t have to tell him _anything._

It was only once he’d teleported out of the room that he’d realised that Augus was also likely stressed. But he couldn’t find it in himself to care very much. There wasn’t much more he could do for Augus except what he was already doing.

*

Albion turned up at the Court two days later.

He walked into the throne-room while Gwyn was holding open Court, raised a hand in the imperious way that he did when he wanted Gwyn’s attention. He’d been the King of the Atlantic Ocean for far longer than Gwyn had been King of the Seelie Court, and Albion was revered by some humans as a demigod, his presence was felt in multiple worlds. Gwyn had needed someone very experienced to look after the saltwater world of the fae, and Albion had a brisk, stern manner that he appreciated.

But seeing him landside in the Seelie Court was always a cause for concern.

They drew off into a side room. Albion didn’t sit down in one of the proffered chairs, but instead stood stiffly by the table, dark moustache and beard as pointed and perfectly groomed as always. His eyes were a deep, tempestuous blue. Wherever he went, the power of the Atlantic Ocean went with him. His clothing never helped, today a severely cut black suit, a tiny pin of a wave on his lapel.

‘Ill tidings?’ Gwyn prompted.

‘Nay, not particularly. I came to ask your intentions for the Seelie Court now that the wars are over. Little time has passed, I am aware, but you only have a coterie of two, and both of us are sea-fae. I’m concerned for the state of the Court.’

Gwyn repressed the urge to swallow, his face remained impassive. He’d always been unusual for only ever electing two fae to Inner Court status, which was the status reserved for those who were designed to be direct assistants to the King or Queen.

‘Do you believe I need a larger coterie?’

‘Your disposition is like mine, and we are not well-suited to entertaining our people. And, take it from me, it is my perception that land-based fae need far more entertainment than those of the sea. There is more leisure up here under the direct rays of the sun, than there is down there with the merfolk and the selkies.’

‘And you came here to tell me this?’ Gwyn said, eyes narrowing. ‘Don’t dissemble, Albion. This is me you’re talking to.’

Albion grimaced, and then pressed his thumb and forefinger to the point of his beard, pensively.

‘There is a rumour beginning to spread that you are not suited for Kingship. I would see that allayed as soon as possible. Certainly your wish to keep the once-Unseelie King alive was a very unmercenary gesture, especially from you. It is not a decision I would have made, but then I was not voted in as King. _You_ were. Have you considered _why_ you were? People expected you to make the hard decisions that they could not.’

Gwyn shook his head, frustrated.

‘They wanted the Each Uisge defeated, they wanted the Nightmare King defeated. Behold, I delivered, Albion.’

And his heart beginning to beat faster in his chest.

Was this what Crielle was up to? Had it already started?

‘The Each Uisge is wily. He is not defeated until he is dead and another can be born in his stead. But I have not come to argue the matter of his life with you, all reports from the Display were that he was suitably cowed. I would suggest – as one of your advisors – that you might wish to appoint an Inner Court coterie member to deal specifically with the more leisurely aspects of the Court. Those parts that you wish to have nothing to do with.’

Gwyn knew what Albion was going to say next before he even said it. He took a deep, silent breath and wondered when it was that Crielle and Albion had ended up becoming close, or if they always had been, and he just hadn’t known it.

_Unlikely. You vetted Albion and Ondine thoroughly, remember?_

‘Crielle has managed the social affairs of the Court with finesse since the Oak King was in power,’ Albion continued, and Gwyn wished he had some battleground to visit, someone to hack his sword into. ‘She is your mother. She is charming. She knows the sorts of functions and events to arrange seasonally to keep the fae entertained and convinced they are in a warm and inviting Court.’

‘But she is already doing this within the Court,’ Gwyn said.

Albion shook his head.

‘It would give you credit within the Court if you would officially appoint her, raise her to Inner Court status. The other fae would then know that you care enough about these matters to allocate this to someone officially, rather than shunt it to the side as you always do. Do not misunderstand me, I find it all very much a waste of my time, but rumours are reaching my ears in the saltwater world, which means they are spreading far indeed.’

Albion laughed.

‘The wars are over, Gwyn. You’re supposed to at least give the impression that matters are not so serious now.’

‘Aren’t they?’ Gwyn said. ‘Fae land is still Blighted, some fae are still wasting away, the illness takes its toll over time, and there are those who have not yet been able to find replacement lands for the ones that were taken from them. The Unseelie Court is unstable and-’

‘That is their own business and not any of ours.’

‘The last time the Unseelie Court was unstable, I was voted into Kingship without my _consent,_ which goes against the standard,’ Gwyn snapped. ‘We cannot afford to bury our heads in the sand about this.’

‘It was high praise that the Oak King thought you worthy to be his heir to the throne,’ Albion said, his voice stiff. But Gwyn didn’t want to hear an argument about the Oak King. Everyone remembered him so fondly, but Gwyn worked for him as a war general, and he knew the measure of his strength.

‘He was a coward,’ Gwyn said. ‘He was a coward who didn’t want to deal with an alien threat. Otherwise he could simply have commanded me – as his _General –_ to do what he wanted me to do. I would have applied myself just as much to the cause – if not more so – with an army at my disposal and no pressure to live out two and a half centuries in the Seelie Court. He simply didn’t want to reign during a time of extreme conflict.’

Albion didn’t say anything. The air became piquant with salt, it smelled as though a storm was coming. Albion himself was still, his eyes looking off into the horizon. Slowly, his gaze fell back upon Gwyn like a crashing wave.

‘Is it that you disapprove of me calling him coward?’ Gwyn said.

It was obvious Albion did. Gwyn imagined that he must seem a very ill-equipped King, after the long, beloved reign of the Oak King.

‘You can be as ascetic as you want, if you appoint an Inner Court that can balance it out,’ Albion said eventually, sighing. ‘I am not aware enough of land-based fae to make many recommendations to you, and neither is Ondine. If you would not appoint Crielle as a direct advisor, you might wish to go to her for recommendations.’

 _Well done, mother,_ Gwyn thought. _Point to you. Perhaps several._

‘The rumours must truly be dire,’ Gwyn said.

Albion nodded.

‘I was content to let them go, until I heard one rumour that some Court fae are thinking of putting your Kingship up for a vote.’

Gwyn almost said, ‘Let them,’ but stopped himself at the last minute. He needed his Kingship in order to release Augus.

He felt like he was in a vice. All this time and he wanted nothing more than to be voted out of Kingship in a way that wouldn’t see him slaughtered. And now he needed the Kingship just long enough that he could speak the words to release Augus. He needed only a few more weeks, he hoped. Nothing more.

‘It bothers you?’ Albion said.

Gwyn wondered how much his expression had betrayed. He said nothing, using the silence as a net in which Albion might throw some words. And Albion did.

‘I came because I wanted to see what I could do to assist you. I cannot live here long, obviously, but I wish to keep a closer eye on things on your behalf. I would not see you voted out early, unless it was what you so desired.’

‘Albion, this is not something you need to concern yourself with.’

‘I’m here now,’ Albion said.

Gwyn couldn’t help but feel like Albion was there to both babysit him, and keep a closer eye on the Court. He’d never had the sense that Albion was angling for the Seelie throne, but he was always a suitable candidate, with far greater experience in ruling large and diverse populations of fae. Not only that, but Albion had fallen into the advisor role for Gwyn in the past, and they’d always had a slightly unequal relationship. Albion respected Gwyn’s nous with combat, but in matters of ruling, Gwyn had often deferred to Albion’s judgement.

It angered him. He wasn’t trained or skilled at the sorts of gossip and underhanded machinations that made up the underbelly of the Seelie Court. He’d always assumed that all of his training in war tactics, his reading up on the group theory that governed the battlefield, would help him when it came to one on one conflicts within his Court, but either he’d missed something along the way, or it didn’t quite translate. His awkwardness and lack of innate dra’ocht made things even more difficult.

And Crielle was aiming for a status raise. He’d be hard pressed to turn her down unless he could think of a substitute. And any Seelie substitute in the Court would be under her sway.

He didn’t even need to wonder why no one else saw her for what she really was. Her centre was appearance, her ability with the dra’ocht was almost unparalleled, even her secondary elemental affiliation was that of glamour. It was a rare affiliation often associated with shapeshifters and Mages born to be illusionists. Crielle made people believe what she wanted them to believe. And he only saw her for what she really was, because she wanted him to know what a monster she was beneath it all.

‘I do appreciate your concern,’ Gwyn said, even though he felt nothing of the sort.

‘But of course,’ Albion said. ‘Now, come along into the throne-room with me, and at least make a good show of it. They all might as well remember that you _have_ an Inner Court.’

Gwyn nodded. It was sound advice.

Watching Crielle and Albion greet each other like old friends – having _no_ idea when that had happened – soured his mood for the rest of the day.

*

Gwyn was stripping down to shower when Augus entered. Gwyn immediately tensed. After the long day he’d had, he ached like he’d spent a day out on a battlefield. He’d only sat and stood and talked – mostly listened – in the Court. Albion and Crielle had drawn him out into multiple group conversations and he’d navigated each one as best as possible, which still meant poorly.

Crielle was so pleased with herself, and Gwyn could feel the Kingship slipping away. He knew it was petty, but he loathed them all for voting him into power in the first place. Crielle, of course, hadn’t. But the rest of the Court fae had all raised their hands for him, transferred the power from the Oak King to Gwyn without him having the faintest knowledge that they were even considering him. It wasn’t illegal, but it also wasn’t considered appropriate. Possibly the Oak King knew all along that Gwyn would say no otherwise. It confounded him, because he could have done what was expected of him just as well from the position of general.

It had felt like an insult, even though he’d had to remind himself very constantly that it wasn’t. It was a great honour and privilege. It was a sign of how much they wanted him in the position.

Or perhaps just a sign of how much the Oak King didn’t want to confront the Nightmare King, at a time when no one else wanted to step up to the responsibility of defeating him.

‘Leave me alone,’ Gwyn said, as Augus sat down on his bed and bounced on the mattress.

‘You _reek_ of salt.’

Of course. Saltwater and freshwater fae were incompatible. Freshwater fae like Augus could come up with rashes with exposure to salt water and saltwater fae. It burnt their eyes and throat. Just as many freshwater fish wouldn’t survive in the ocean, so many freshwater fae strongly reviled being around sea-fae.

‘I’m about to shower,’ Gwyn said.

‘ _Why_ do you reek of salt? Has your Inner Court come to visit?’

‘Albion,’ Gwyn said abruptly. He grabbed a folded towel and wrapped it around himself. He felt exposed. He felt too raw for nudity.

Augus had raised his eyebrows in shock, and then lowered them in suspicion. Gwyn didn’t have the time nor patience to deal with Augus’ paranoia or...whatever was brewing in his head. He didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to think. He wanted hot water and to scrub the Court off him.

‘I want to do this later,’ Gwyn said.

‘Oh no,’ Augus said. ‘You’re not a prisoner. Whatever was I thinking?’

 _‘Augus,’_ Gwyn snarled.

‘Out of all the people you could let hold you captive, why does it have to be those dreary souls? Truly, they are spectacularly dour. Here, I’ll make the transition easy for you. Just be _my_ prisoner.’

Gwyn snapped. He stepped forwards and picked Augus up by the collar, dragging him to his door. Augus didn’t even fight him, only started to laugh. It was infuriating. He showed no signs of the softness that Gwyn had seen from him. Gwyn was almost upset, except that he knew he couldn’t trust that softness, he _knew_ he couldn’t.

‘Get _out,’_ Gwyn pushed him through the door and closed it behind him, locking it. He’d had _enough._

He ended up sitting on the floor his shower, hair plastered to his head and water trickling in rivulets down his face. It was scalding, his skin had turned red, and he didn’t want to leave. His mind was cluttered. It shoved half-finished thoughts at him in fits and starts. He could feel the touches of Crielle’s hand on his forearm, shoulder, the back of his hand, the small of his back. She’d even reached out and cupped his cheek at one point, in a sign of affectionate maternal care.

It was so _false._

Not only that, but each touch was a cause for tension, waiting for the small, spiteful pains that Crielle liked to inflict on him while others weren’t looking. And, indeed, she’d managed at one point to bite the skin of his inner elbow between the sharp nails of her index finger and thumb. He’d swallowed convulsively, stared at her, and though she released him, she didn’t miss a beat in her conversation. It was so like his childhood that he wished desperately for forest cabins, for small cots in training camps.

He felt lost over what to do about Augus. He had to release him, Gwyn’s own spirit demanded nothing less. But...it was only a matter of time before Augus either betrayed him, or alternatively, realised all the monstrosities Gwyn had committed against him. Only a matter of time before Gwyn found out that all those touches, as sincere as some of them felt, were make-believe. He was buying into a fantasy, he was so desperate for it to be true.

He lowered his head to his knee and began to shake.

But it was rage that found him, not fear or loss. He was outraged at the position he found himself in, at the cage he was caught in. He wanted violence and action and blood. And his fingernails found a tiny measure of it, pressing half-moon wounds into his shins over and over again, the water washing all signs of blood away, and his own healing sealing up his skin so it could be freshly wounded once more.

*

Albion was true to his word. He showed up every day. He didn’t place a great deal more pressure on Gwyn to be in the throne-room more often, but Gwyn couldn’t help but feel like he was being supervised. He was frustrated with Albion for not seeing through Crielle, tired of the fear he felt around his own mother.

Augus seemed to have hit his own patch of instability. Gwyn knew that Augus thought he was up to something, but he didn’t dare reveal his plans. And captivity had to chafe at him. Just because he’d exchanged a cell for a series of concentric palatial rooms, didn’t mean that he wasn’t still captive in a Court that scraped at the energy of all Unseelie fae.

Augus had taken to venting himself on Gwyn, usually in the form of attempting to bait him and draw him into argument. It was getting harder and harder not to snap, not to resort to violence. The less he responded to Augus’ verbal barbs, the worse Augus got.  

In spare moments, Gwyn wondered if Augus truly did know what his new centre was. And he wondered what it might be, that Augus thought he wouldn’t like it. He didn’t even know how Augus could tell, except that Augus seemed to have a gift with these things. When Gwyn’s centre had shattered from triumph, Augus had suggested that he make a home for himself in the forest for a while when they’d said farewell. It hadn’t made any sense, until Gwyn realised that his centre was wildness several months later. And then he’d wondered at it, how Augus had _known._

He hadn’t made another excuse to use his light again. Augus had given him much food for thought at the Estate, but he couldn’t bring himself to go back, and that played on him too.

‘Do you ever think about it?’ Augus said, interrupting Gwyn as he tried to distract himself from his own irritation with map-making. It wasn’t going so well. He had run out of a certain ink he’d needed while halfway through his lettering, only to realise that he couldn’t quite match the shade again without venturing out to collect more sea snails for their violet blood. He was already grinding his teeth when he felt Augus behind him, and made a sound of frustration when Augus drummed his fingers on Gwyn’s back idly.

‘Augus, how many times do I have to tell you that I am not in the mood for your mischief. Take it elsewhere. My tether is short.’

‘Do you ever think about the big, fancy cage they put you in? It’s one thing to be a war general, isn’t it? To be out there in the great wide open world, killing and feeding on a day to day basis. But in here it’s so different. I can feel it, and I haven’t been made to live here for as long as you have. It must _itch_ at you.’

‘Your incessant need to make my life miserable is far more irritating, trust me,’ Gwyn said.

Augus laughed like he’d said something delightful.

‘Oh, you liar.’

Gwyn closed his eyes, remembered Ash calling him a liar in the bar, remembered his idle mention that Gwyn’s centre should have been deceit. For all he knew, it was now.

Augus placed a possessive hand on Gwyn’s neck, and Gwyn stood up so quickly his chair tipped over, pushing Augus backwards. Augus’ eyes gleamed with a hungry, avid light. Gwyn was so tired of it, being played by everyone around him. Crielle and the Court, even Albion now, so confident in the security of his own Atlantic Ocean kingdom that he was comfortable leaving it behind.

‘Get out, Augus.’

‘You’re so _grim,_ these days. And that’s saying something, honestly. Perhaps it’s all this time you’ve spent around Seelie fae. Everyone knows they don’t like to have a good time. We have a saying, back in our Court, that-’

‘I don’t want to hear it,’ Gwyn snapped.

Years of hearing the Seelie fae gripe about the Unseelie while he was there, he came to learn the difference between good-natured teasing, and picking on an entire alignment who couldn’t be there to defend themselves. At least in Gwyn’s battles, the opposing side usually had a chance to fight back.

‘And of course I think about it,’ Gwyn said, referring back to something else Augus had asked. ‘I thought you were supposed to be intelligent. Either you already know that it’s a problem for me, in which case you are just _baiting_ me, or I vastly overestimated you.’

Augus smiled darkly.

‘Have you always dealt with your own stress like a child?’ Gwyn said, narrowing his eyes. ‘You could tell me that captivity is wearing on you. You could _ask_ me to take you to places outside of the Court, provided that I do not think you’re a flight risk and that you won’t be attacked by others. Instead you pick at others, because you cannot stand to look at your own problems.’

‘Don’t forget that it’s just fun,’ Augus added, sounding downright gleeful. His expression shifted slightly, and he watched Gwyn like he could see everything in his mind. Gwyn hated that, because he _couldn’t,_ but it still made him feel unfairly scrutinised.

‘Do you need me to take over for a little while?’ Augus said, and Gwyn shook his head.

‘I need you to leave me alone so I can get some things done.’

‘The map? Is it so important? What has been going on in your Kingdom lately? Why is Albion here?’

Just hearing Albion’s name again, thinking about how he’d been _shepherded_ around his own Court by the both of them – Crielle and Albion both treating him like some recalcitrant child that needed to be retrained like a wilful puppy – sent his frustration soaring. He did not want to talk about this. He was finding it hard enough to keep himself in check as it was.

He pushed past Augus, shaking his head as he went.

His mistake was not simply teleporting away.

Waterweed wrapped around his ankles, and Gwyn fell badly. His shoulder hit the doorframe so hard that he could only get one arm under himself in time, and his forehead still fell against floorboards.

That was _it._

Augus was in the middle of saying something, but Gwyn had reached his limit. His vision flashed red and he tore off thick ropes of waterweed in his bare hands, splitting it with his fingers. Sap bled sticky over his skin, smelled astringent and green. He was tired of people not listening to him, and if they wanted to push him until he snapped, then they could just deal with the consequences.

‘If you insist on acting like a child,’ Gwyn snarled, stalking towards Augus, ‘then I shall treat you like one.’

He grabbed Augus by the throat, grasping his wrists with his other hand when Augus went to use pressure points to disarm him. Augus’ eyes were wide, he always looked so _shocked_ when he’d pushed Gwyn too far, which was ridiculous, because he _always_ did it.

He teleported them into his room and dragged Augus over to his bed.

‘Are you going to fuck your way out of telling me what’s been going on?’ Augus croaked around the hold Gwyn had on his throat.

Gwyn said nothing as he sat down on the edge of the bed, letting go of Augus’ throat and unbuckling his belt, drawing it out of his pants. Augus was still gasping for air when Gwyn spun Augus around and dragged his wrists behind him, cinching them tight with the belt. It was a rough tie, and Augus was already struggling against it.

Gwyn felt anticipation thunder through him. He never normally did these things, except that Augus had given him the idea. And so when he yanked down Augus’ pants and then used his considerable strength to pit himself against Augus’ struggles and force him over both of his knees, he found himself breathless with it.

The instant Augus was belly down on Gwyn’s thighs, he stilled for two seconds, before giving an indignant screech and struggling so hard that he ended up hurting himself, making a short cry of pain as he tried to get away from Gwyn’s implacable strength.

‘No,’ Augus said. ‘No, if you’re not going to fuck me, put me _down.’_

‘You think,’ Gwyn said, as he let Augus fight back against him, enjoying the thrill of having a fae with significant strength pit themselves against his own strength and fail. ‘You think that you can just treat me with disrespect whenever you like, I did say there would be consequences.’

He placed his hand on Augus’ ass, a quiet threat, and Augus heaved for a single, huge breath of air.

‘If you can’t treat me with respect, then maybe I should _teach_ you some.’

‘Don’t you _d-’_

The first open-handed slap against Augus’ ass was lighter than Gwyn had intended, but it was still not a light strike, and the sound of it dominated the room. Augus stiffened, bucked against him, and with only one hand holding Augus down, he managed to slip several inches towards the floor. Gwyn yanked him back again, wrenching his arms, and Augus made a strangled sound.

‘Why wouldn’t I dare?’ Gwyn said, bringing his hand down again. The second strike was harder, and Augus flinched, and then stayed silent through two more smacks, each falling on the same spot, because a part of Gwyn wanted him to _hurt._ ‘Look at what you dare, Augus. If you want to push me, maybe you shouldn’t act so surprised when I push _back.’_

Gwyn trailed his fingers over the cheek that he’d smacked, noticing that the skin was already beginning to redden. And Augus below him was trembling. Even with his centre gone, it had to grate at him.

‘This must be _humiliating_ for you,’ Gwyn said, staring at Augus hungrily. His legs were trapped in his pants, his boots were still on, even his shirt. His fingers were stiffened into claws, and he kept his head down towards the bed. But his breathing was unsteady. He sounded distressed. ‘Is it? To have a fae King put you over his knees like you-’

‘You had best _never_ untie my wrists,’ Augus said, his voice hard.

‘Don’t worry, Augus. I’m perfectly aware you’ll visit some sort of revenge on me,’ Gwyn said, scratching his nails roughly down the back of Augus’ thigh and listening to him exhale sharply. ‘That’s why I plan on making the most of this.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Augus said.

Gwyn grinned. This was just what he needed after the week he’d had. There was something so very satisfying about having Augus beneath him, or subdued, or _his._ For all that Gwyn enjoyed submitting, stealing submission from Augus was something he wanted more of.

And there was something about knowing that Augus clearly expected something different, knowing that Augus was angling for a particular outcome, and providing this instead that made a dark curl of pleasure thrill through him.

‘I’d say brace yourself, but you can’t, can you?’

Augus started to make a sound of outrage which was abruptly cut off when Gwyn aimed his next slap for Augus’ other ass cheek, the feel of it satisfying against the flat of his palm. What he wanted now was sounds, for noises to fall from Augus’ throat, since it was obvious he didn’t want to give up _anything._

He started an uneven rhythm. It was tempting to fall into a steady beat upon Augus’ skin, but Gwyn had learned from Augus that sometimes uneven was better. Sometimes it was better not to know what might be happening next. Augus beneath him was tense, his shoulders heaved in broken hitches, as though he was holding his breath constantly. Gwyn bit his lower lip, aimed for the softer flesh where thigh met the slope of his ass.

Augus yelped and then growled low in his throat, a sinister, threatening sound that made Gwyn slap him in the same place a second time.

Augus cried out, voice breaking on pain and surprise and outrage. He turned his head, stared venom at Gwyn. His face was flushed much darker than usual, and his eyes were bright. Gwyn wondered if it was pain, or humiliation, or both.

Gwyn maintained a steady eye contact with him, and then deliberately smacked him three more times, and Augus’ eyes widened and then he turned his head immediately back to the blankets, his arms jerking.

‘Didn’t your centre used to be dominance?’ Gwyn said, smacking him directly in the centre of his ass and drinking down the low grunt, the jerk that followed. He couldn’t _help_ himself. For months he’d been listening to Augus talk to him like this. He understood why Augus liked it so much.

Augus hissed breath from between his teeth, opened his mouth to respond, and Gwyn smacked him before he could utter more than a syllable. He waited for Augus to start again, knowing he would, knowing how much Augus liked to control a scene with words. And as soon as Augus started to talk once more, Gwyn brought his hand down harder.

‘Be quiet, for _once.’_

‘Do you know what I’m thinking of right now? Fucking you _raw,’_ Augus growled, and Gwyn swallowed, repressed a shiver. He shouldn’t like that, he didn’t think he _did_ like that. But whenever Augus talked to him in that tone of voice, it became harder to concentrate.

‘I said be _quiet.’_

Gwyn began to spank him in earnest, not pausing between the strokes for more than a second, making sure that each smack landed hard and firm. The air was filled with the sound of it, and Augus began to struggle in earnest. He tried to work threats out of his throat but Gwyn didn’t let him, watching as the skin reddened deeply under his handiwork.

A minute passed. Augus had given up trying to speak in favour of small, broken noises, cut off before they could pass his teeth. They were repressed, unhappy things. And Gwyn felt uneasy, began to think he should slow down, or stop, until he shifted his legs and felt the hardness of Augus’ erection brush against the inside of his thigh.

His eyes flew open, and unconsciously he smacked harder. Augus cried out, snarled on the very next breath.

‘You don’t know your own strength.’

‘I’m holding back,’ Gwyn said, and then paused, holding Augus down while he shifted his thigh beneath him, brushing deliberately against his cock.

Augus made a thin, shaky sound.

‘It’s gone,’ Gwyn said, keeping Augus pinned with one hand and reaching beneath his hip, brushing his fingers across his erection and listening to the way Augus’ breathing shook. ‘That centre of yours is _gone_. Did I fuck it out of you? Or did you, with your smart mouth, get it fucked out of yourself?’

Augus said nothing, but the words must have gotten to him, because his wrists strained and pulled at the belt so hard that Gwyn could see his wrists reddening before his eyes. Gwyn stopped idly touching Augus’ cock and moved his hand back over his ass again, holding his palm about a centimetre above the tormented flesh, feeling heat radiating from it. He took up a handful of Augus’ ass cheek in his palm, a rough, insensitive grope, and Augus groaned. He tried to push his hips down and out of Gwyn’s grip, grinding himself into Gwyn’s thigh at the same time.

‘I can’t believe you like this,’ Gwyn said, and Augus stilled. But he couldn’t hide the fact the he was hard. ‘You can’t believe it either.’

Gwyn rubbed his palm over Augus’ ass, digging his nails into places that were redder than the others. Augus squirmed at every harder touch. Gwyn kept expecting him to say something, but Augus was holding his tongue, and Gwyn closed his eyes, savouring it. But he couldn’t even feel the sting of it in his palm, and he wanted that too.

He lifted his hand and Augus gave a sharp intake of breath with the movement, tensing once more.

Augus flinched at the next smack, and Gwyn shifted as he spanked him, drawing his legs together until Augus’ cock was trapped beneath his thighs. Augus made a sound of frustration and need, and then a dry sob that was caught in the heave of his lungs.

Gwyn didn’t let up.

He was starting to feel the sting of it in his own hand when Augus’ mouth opened and he let out a sharp series of sobs that were stoppered up again, swallowed back down. But Augus’ breathing became wetter, more laboured, and it was obvious that he was struggling; though still hard between Gwyn’s thighs.

Gwyn paused, scraped his fingers down Augus’ ass again, and Augus didn’t calm, but let out a louder noise of distress that was immediately swallowed.

The vague note of unease that had sounded in him before, flared.

‘Augus?’

Augus shook in his grip, didn’t say anything. After a few seconds he shook his head, gave another thin sound, this one far more despairing, and Gwyn’s eyes widened in horror. It didn’t matter that Augus was still hard, something was wrong.

He let go of Augus’ wrists, and Gwyn felt something like a cold stone fall through his gut when Augus didn’t try to move away. When he didn’t move _at all._

Gwyn hurriedly undid the belt, drew it away from grazed, reddened wrists, and-

Augus flipped over and his hands shot up and outwards, index fingers and thumbs pressing up underneath his jaw and making Gwyn’s head shriek with pain. He tried to lift his arms to push Augus back, shock and dread quickly eclipsing the concern he’d felt, but the pressure points numbed his arms, an ache moving down the nerves of them.

Augus stared at him, breathing hard, eyes still filmed over with wetness, tear-tracks making their way down both cheeks. But there was a vindictive, triumphant expression on his face, an upward curl to his lips, a flare of his nostrils which was hunger, not pain.

Gwyn realised he’d been played.

Augus pushed him backwards to the bed, wincing as he shifted. He moved one hand away from Gwyn’s jaw and splayed the other so that four fingers were digging up hard into the pressure points, making it feel like Augus was trying to pierce the underside of his jaw. He made a choked sound, couldn’t move properly. His hips were at the edge of the bed, his legs hanging off, he couldn’t even get leverage.

He twisted to move Augus off him, and Augus backhanded him twice in quick succession, the second blow harder than the first. Gwyn blinked, his jaw was locked up, there were bright sparks in front of his eyes. His ears rung from the force of it.

‘Surrender,’ Augus said as he reached for the belt.

Gwyn couldn’t open his mouth to say ‘No.’

‘You will let me slide this belt around your wrists, or I will slide it around your _throat,_ do you understand?’ Augus held the belt up and Gwyn nodded quickly, because everything was happening too fast and one moment he felt like he’d been in control of the situation and now his face hurt, his arms ached, and he didn’t want to anger Augus further. Augus had promised revenge, Gwyn just hadn’t expected it so _soon._

Augus quickly released the pressure points at Gwyn’s jaw and slid the loop of the belt over both of Gwyn’s wrists at his front, cinching the belt tightly. He got up and kicked off his boots, his pants, still hard, and then took off his shirt, dropping it by the side of the bed. Gwyn flexed his wrists against the belt as Augus yanked his own pants down to his boots, and then left them there, bunched around his ankles, keeping him from being able to shift his legs.

‘You naive _idiot,’_ Augus hissed, turning Gwyn over onto his front with supernatural strength. ‘Now, where do you keep your lubricant again? Oh that’s right, _everywhere.’_

Augus drew it out from under the pillow where Gwyn had left it last time, and Gwyn started to slide backwards off the bed, getting his feet under him. He didn’t know what he wanted, but he wasn’t sure he should let Augus do-

Augus reached between his legs and cupped his balls in his hand. He didn’t squeeze, he didn’t need to. Gwyn froze.

‘Very good,’ Augus said, his voice finally easing. ‘Good.’

‘You played me,’ Gwyn said, dumbly.

‘You bought it,’ Augus crooned, and shifted his fingers around the soft flesh he cupped, making Gwyn’s breath hitch. It was sensitive, and it was almost too much. Gwyn was on high alert, his senses were already in overdrive.

Gwyn thought that maybe Augus would spank him now, would retaliate, and forehead furrowed, he pushed his face into the bed. He shook his head slightly. He didn’t know if he wanted it. He was almost certain it wouldn’t matter.

‘It’s been some time since I’ve been inside you, hasn’t it?’ Augus started to lean against Gwyn’s thighs, and then bit off a growl of frustration. A moment later, Gwyn’s boots were being unlaced and pulled off, tossed into the corner of the room. His pants were roughly removed. Augus kicked Gwyn’s legs apart and stood between them, and Gwyn felt exposed, he couldn’t get his hands free.

‘Yes,’ Gwyn said, realising it had been.

‘I think the last time I got to be inside your ass, you were squealing and face down in a corridor.’

Gwyn shuddered, his hands awkwardly fisted where they were bound beneath him.

Gwyn squeezed his eyes shut, even though he couldn’t see anything anyway. It was on the tip of his tongue to say that he didn’t want it to be like that, but he couldn’t quite get the words out. After a few seconds, he tilted his head to the side, kept his eyes shut. 

‘Are you going to do it again?’ Gwyn said, thinking that Augus seemed to be in the mood for it.

‘Shut _up,’_ Augus snarled, and then Gwyn jerked when he felt two cold, slick fingers press between his ass cheeks. They didn’t press in, only shifted back and forth in small, slow movements. Then slowed down further. Gwyn’s tension abated just enough that he could feel the intimate pleasure of it, his breathing slowed and then sped up again. The lubricant began to warm up, it felt less uncomfortable. There was still another hand between his legs, cupping him, making him so, so still.

 _Don’t do it like that again,_ Gwyn thought at Augus, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it. He was a ball of mixed feelings over what had happened last time, and Augus was angry at him, and Gwyn...didn’t know what to do.

‘Should I?’ Augus said. ‘Do you want me to do it again?’

Gwyn opened his mouth to answer, but no words came. It should have been easy. He was angry at himself. Only two minutes ago he’d had Augus over his knees and it was wonderful. And now...this was frightening – he had no idea of Augus’ motives or desires at this point. But he didn’t know how to just say: _I don’t want it._

His fingers curled underneath him in frustration. They were just _words._

‘Ah,’ Augus said. ‘Let me make it easier for you. If you want it to happen like that again, say; ‘I want you to rip me apart, Augus,’ and I’ll oblige. And if you _don’t,_ say nothing.’

Gwyn’s shoulders sagged in relief, and he turned his head to the side, gulping for breath. That was easier, that was _much_ easier. It also made him realise that Augus perhaps wasn’t in the mood that he thought he was.

‘Good,’ Augus purred, grinding his hips against Gwyn’s. Gwyn felt the length of his erection press against his ass, push Augus’ fingers closer to his entrance, and he shifted his face back to the blankets to hide noises that waited. ‘Do you miss it? My cock inside you?’

Gwyn nodded, closed his legs around Augus’ legs, wanting more contact.

Augus laughed under his breath. He shifted his hand away from Gwyn’s balls and smoothed the flat of his palm down the centre of his spine, even as he pushed the first, warm finger inside. Gwyn squirmed on the bed, opened his mouth to breathe. He didn’t know if he would ever get used to this.

Augus often prepared him quickly, so he was expecting Augus to press back with two fingers straight away, but he didn’t. And Gwyn found the position uncomfortable, wanted to be on the mattress properly, he was crushing his own arms and hands, the belt cut into his skin. But he found himself feeling less fractious than he had for some time. It didn’t seem right. Everyone telling him what to do made him feel trapped in his surroundings; but as soon as Augus took control, he felt different. As though he could just put his mind down for a little while.

Minutes passed and Gwyn wanted more, pushed his hips back unconsciously. Augus returned with two fingers, teasing at his entrance before pushing firmly in. The rhythm he set up was faster now, firmer, and Gwyn gulped down air.

At the third finger, Gwyn groaned, the noise strangling off into a far higher sound. He shifted his legs, squirmed. Augus avoided his prostate, worked him open with a quiet efficiency. His other hand began scratching at Gwyn’s skin. Nothing that broke the surface, just slow drags of his fingers that made his skin tingle and heat through. It was a soothing counterpoint to what was happening. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest, he could feel it in his neck, his wrists, his gut.

‘Why aren’t you hurting me?’ Gwyn said, and Augus said nothing, only moved his fingers within him, Gwyn’s breathing and Augus’ fingers moving the only sound in the room.

When Augus withdrew his fingers and opened the vial of lubricant again, Gwyn turned his face to the side. He couldn’t even brace himself with his hands being imprisoned. He could only see Augus in the outer edges of his peripheral vision. Didn’t know the expression on his face, couldn’t tell why he was being so quiet.

And then Augus was stepping closer between his legs, and he felt the blunt weight of him sliding through the lubricant already there, cold and warm mixing together. Gwyn’s breath hitched as Augus pushed inside of him. He groaned at the stretch of it, tension spooling away when he realised it wasn’t painful, it wasn’t anything like last time.

Gwyn moaned, tugged on the belt. He could get his hands free if he really wanted to, a single belt buckle wouldn’t stop him if he really pitted himself against it. But Augus was sinking deeper in increments, keeping the penetration slow and Gwyn was becoming hypersensitive beneath him.

‘Surrender,’ Augus said again.

It was such an _odd_ choice of word, and Gwyn opened his mouth to say ‘No,’ again, when something inside of him responded to the word. A moment of profound resonance, like a bell had been struck. All of his nerves set alight, and his eyes flew open, the room around him invasive suddenly, too close.

_Surrender._

Images of white flags, of soldiers laying down their arms, of fae unwillingly surrendering to captivity, even of _Augus_ surrendering to Gwyn and his own brother flashed in vivid, daring brightness in his own mind.

‘No,’ Gwyn whispered, a denial. ‘No, no, _no.’_

_It can’t be._

‘You’ve realised, then?’ Augus said. ‘Your new core, it’s surrender. Imagine, out of _everything_ you could have transitioned to, you transitioned to being suited to being right here, underneath me, a cock inside you. It could be anyone’s, I think. It probably wouldn’t even need to be mine. Think about that for a few seconds.’

Augus withdrew a few inches and slid back. He wasn’t fully seated yet, and Gwyn already felt full, disarmed. But his mind was awake and thundering and panic was spiralling through him. He tugged on his wrists again, his breath came faster.

 _‘No,’_ Gwyn said. ‘What...kind of a centre is that? It can’t be, you’re...you, _you_ did this to me.’

Gwyn was struggling, pushing forward into the bed to try and dislodge Augus, dragging his arms up underneath himself and making a strangled, pained noise when he couldn’t get them up past his chin because of the belt and his own weight and Augus leaning down on him stopped him. He yanked hard, panicking, wrists screeching at him. Augus was saying something, always _saying_ something, and Gwyn didn’t want to listen. He couldn’t afford a centre like that. Not now, not with the Seelie Kingdom falling towards Crielle and-

And yet it had rung _true._

Augus dug his fingers in to pressure points at Gwyn’s hip, slid his hand up along Gwyn’s ribs on the other side. He dug his fingers into Gwyn’s side and Gwyn stilled, pain lancing. After a little while, Augus eased up from the pressure points. Gwyn didn’t move. He breathed loudly, quickly. He felt like he’d stepped into a steel trap left by a hunter.

‘Alright,’ Augus said. ‘Perhaps I should have let you figure that one out on your own. I did say you wouldn’t like it.’

‘This is because of _you,’_ Gwyn said, accusing. Augus sighed.

And then Gwyn shouted out as his senses were overtaken. Augus slid into him completely in one smooth, firm movement. He felt pinned to the bed, gasped over and over again. He felt dizzy, unmoored. Augus didn’t move, stroked his flank, and then stroked at his ribs.

'Do you feel how you want to, though?’ Augus said. ‘Do you feel it? Even when you laid your hand on me, _spanked_ me like some misbehaving toddler, you were surrendering to your primal urges. Giving in. That’s the challenge, isn’t it? You don’t know _what_ to surrender to. Me? The Court? Yourself? But you want to _give up._ You want to stop trying so hard. You are so tired, Gwyn. You just want it _over.’_

He heard the words but he could hardly comprehend their meaning. How could he – who had once had a centre of triumph – end up with _this?_ It was...revolting. It was the opposite of everything he tried to achieve in battle. The opposite of everything he had ever trained for. It was _wrong._

It was a fundamental, discordant jag inside of him. An ugly rift, and he made a strangled, despairing sound.

‘No,’ Gwyn said again, hating how weak he sounded, how faint his voice. _‘No.’_

‘You don’t understand it yet,’ Augus said, sounding far too calm. ‘You’re thinking about it as a soldier might. You are _not_ only a soldier, and somewhere you know that, or this core energy would never have come to you. Now, if we can stop indulging in this existential crisis of yours. My ass _hurts,_ and I would dearly like to distract _myself.’_

‘Untie my hands,’ Gwyn said, and Augus laughed.

‘To use a word you seem remarkably fond of today; _no.’_

Augus withdrew slowly, pushed back in at a speed that was not suited to Gwyn, that was designed to be maddening. It was something Augus would have enjoyed, but for him it was far too slow. He pressed his lips together, realised through the vibration of his throat that he was whining. He abruptly cut off the sound.

‘Ask me to go faster,’ Augus said.

Gwyn groaned. They were back to _this_ again.

‘It’s easy,’ Augus said, ‘You say, ‘faster.’’

A minute passed, and Augus started to withdraw, sighing in what was either genuine or mock disappointment. Gwyn couldn’t tell. His eyes flew open, he needed something to distract himself. He didn’t want to think anymore. He didn’t want to be left here tied up, uncertain what was going to happen next.

‘Augus, faster,’ Gwyn breathed, thinking that his ears couldn’t possibly get any warmer.

Augus slid back in, set up a firm, undulating rhythm that was a deep ache of pleasure in Gwyn’s body. It felt good. He was rapidly hardening against the bed, the angle uncomfortable, yet he was finding it harder to care. And beneath that was a sense of suspense, or tension. Augus had threatened him, had talked about wanting to fuck him raw. Surely this...wasn’t it. Surely whatever Augus had planned was still coming.

Short claws dug furrows into his back, raking down, and Gwyn arched underneath the pain of it. And on its heels pleasure chased itself all the way through him, and he moaned softly, hoping Augus would do it again.

He did, aiming for a different point on his back. Gwyn ground his hips down into the bed, gained a painful, rough friction for his cock. Augus rode the movement of Gwyn’s hips, then reached down and grasped them, pulling Gwyn back into his thrusts. Gwyn choked on the feel of it, whimpered, tried to force his breathing to calm but he was too frayed at the edges, past the limits of what he could contain. He had enough energy to keep the light back, enough to pull absently on the belt that sandwiched his wrists and hands beneath his belly, but that was all.

He couldn’t get his hands down to his cock properly; Augus’ movements and the belt made it impossible.

‘Augus,’ Gwyn gasped. ‘Augus, please.’

And then he remembered the word _surrender,_ and clamped his mouth shut. His teeth ground together as Augus pushed him towards orgasm with an intensity that caused bursts of colour to flash behind his eyelids. Augus was oddly silent, only scratching lines into Gwyn’s back, his shoulders, even his upper arms.

Augus moaned softly, and Gwyn hung onto the noise, felt something hot and sharp spike through him, a pleasure that was almost painful. And there, on the end of it, he crashed into his own release, surprised by its suddenness. He moaned sharply, his mouth opened on a cry, and Augus rode him through it, turning each of Gwyn’s spasms into friction-filled motions that made his cock slide in his own come on the bed, that made Gwyn painfully aware of how he’d tightened around Augus, how he could _feel_ him moving still.

‘Damn,’ Augus said quietly, almost to himself.

Gwyn made a questioning noise, couldn’t manage much more. He was tired, and he was becoming lax as Augus kept moving inside of him, aware of how much he was growing to like this. He was oversensitive and overstimulated, but there was something about Augus rocking back and forth inside of him once he’d already spent himself that made a part of his mind calm further.

Augus never answered him. One moment he made a small, pained noise, and then he was spilling inside of Gwyn, supporting himself on his hands on either side of Gwyn’s side, shuddering out long, shaking breaths. He gave a single, low moan at the end when Gwyn pushed back into him, curious to see what it would do.

Augus’ head bowed all the way down, damp hair touching the scratches on his back, forehead pressing into his sweaty skin.

‘Do you have a salve for when you’ve gotten yourself beaten all bloody in the field?’ Augus said softly against him. ‘Do you have it here?’

Gwyn’s eyes widened, he started to respond, but Augus withdrew and the sensation of it, the emptiness that followed, left him making a small, hollow sound. Augus placed a calming hand on his hip, then stepped away, bending down to pick up a Gwyn’s shirt – Gwyn knew it would be his – to clean himself up. A moment later, the fabric of it was pressing between his legs, rubbing down the centre of him with a familiarity that felt almost too intimate. Gwyn squirmed, rolled sideways.

He held out his bound wrists instead. Augus looked at them, looked at Gwyn. He reached forwards and loosened the belt buckle, moving the loop off both of his wrists. He smiled faintly when he saw the abrasions on Gwyn’s wrists, and held up his own. They had a matching set. Gwyn found his lips quirking up, unbidden.

‘Do you have that salve?’ Augus said.

Gwyn realised belatedly why Augus was asking, and pushed himself off the bed. It took him a moment to remember how to coordinate himself properly. Augus took him apart, and Gwyn wasn’t used to putting himself together again this quickly.

‘Lie down,’ Gwyn said, opening one of his cabinets and drawing the pot of salve down. ‘On your stomach.’

His wrists and hands were shaking, his breathing hadn’t returned to normal.

The word ‘surrender’ whispered in his mind, and he ignored it as best he could. It was a dull bell, rhythmic and incessant. It wouldn’t leave now until he’d properly acknowledged it.

But he _couldn’t._

Augus was lying face down on the bed, his head on pillows and turned to the side, eyes closed, when Gwyn turned back to him.

Gwyn saw the damage he’d wrought and froze. Where Augus’ ass had simply been red before, he was _bruised._ Deep, opaque bruises – some almost black – had broken out in several places, blood vessels had broken. Gwyn felt sick with himself, he hadn’t _realised._ It looked like violence. Gwyn was familiar with violence. He’d had bruises like this himself growing up. The high pitched noise in the back of his throat came without his knowledge.

‘No,’ Augus said, and Gwyn’s eyes snapped to his. Augus was watching him calmly. ‘It’s alright. It will heal. And there is a vast difference between whatever your mind is telling you, and what I experienced. To my surprise, I got hard, remember? I would have come, if you hadn’t bought the tears.’

‘Some of those tears were real, weren’t they?’ Gwyn said, and swallowed around his own shaking voice. He stepped towards the bed, unscrewing the lid on the salve. He could, at the very least, do this.

‘If your expression is anything to go by, then my ass is obviously telling you that the answer to that is _yes.’_

Gwyn licked his lips nervously as he dipped his hand into the aromatic, herbal unguent and spread it as carefully as he could over Augus’ flesh. The skin radiated a searing heat, and Gwyn shook his head at himself. Augus had told him that he didn’t know his own strength, but the truth was that Gwyn _had_ been holding back.

Augus, to his credit, didn’t make any sounds of discomfort, though the application of the salve had to be hurting him. After a few minutes he sighed in relief, and Gwyn sighed silently with him.

‘That salve is good, what’s in it?’ Augus said.

‘I have no idea.’

‘Smells like farawort, and maybe golden leeskin?’ Augus sounded like he was almost talking to himself. ‘It’s expensive.’

‘It was expensive,’ Gwyn said. ‘I get wounded enough that I don’t want to scrimp on unguents.’

‘My ass thanks you.’

Gwyn chuckled helplessly, and a moment later, Augus did the same.

Gwyn took several more minutes, making sure he was thorough, reapplying the salve in sections that seemed particularly bruised. Already the heat radiating was less intense. Gwyn put the pot back on his desk once he was done, tentatively pressed his palm to Augus’ side. Augus hummed in response, didn’t tell him to stop, so Gwyn kept it there.

‘I thought you were going to hit me,’ Gwyn said, and Augus pushed himself up onto his forearms and looked at him, gaze serious. He seemed to be thinking of what to say. Gwyn waited, bit his lower lip.

‘I’m not interested in doing that with you,’ Augus said finally.

‘Why?’ Gwyn said, frowning.

Augus pursed his lips.

‘You don’t remember, do you? I wondered. You were very dazed at the time.’

‘Remember what?’

Augus scratched at a point on his shoulder and then took a deep breath, sighed it out.

‘When you first came to me...during those scenes, you became quite dazed and tired, understandably. We were still going, it was still an active scene. You hadn’t yet yielded your heartsong to me, but I knew you were close. It was fractured, and you'd already told me about Cyledr and Nwython and we'd made so much progress. But there were a handful of places you were holding back so stubbornly. And I...at this point I knew you had father issues, so I decided I would spank you...because I like to push, to see where it gets me. It went poorly, to say the least. Three strikes in I knew something was very wrong.’

Gwyn didn’t remember _any_ of this. He stared at Augus in shock.

‘And it was compounded when you simply said, ‘Father, I didn’t mean to.’’ Augus shook his head, looked past Gwyn as though he were seeing the scene itself. ‘Seeing the way you reacted, hearing what you said, and so _quickly,_ I decided that wouldn’t ever be a thing I did to you. You can ask for it, but I’m not interested in doling out corporal punishment with you.’

Augus grimaced.

‘Chances are high you’d be able to handle it someday. Even today. Things change, and people’s limits shift and grow and alter. That’s normal. But _I’m_ not interested in doing it. I think you could ask me, and I still wouldn’t.’

Gwyn was surprised to hear that Augus had a boundary with this. He couldn’t remember that part of the scene with Augus at all. Even upon hearing what he’d said, it didn’t jog any memories. He didn’t remember ever being spanked by Augus. He wondered what else he might have forgotten, being pushed down so far into a disoriented space so that Augus could draw forth the answers that he wanted, so that Gwyn could tell someone what he’d done.

‘That’s why I didn’t return the favour,’ Augus said, resting his head on his crossed forearms and looking out into the room. ‘I was surprised _you_ did it. I suppose that’s that curious part of you that wants to try everything at least once.’

‘More than once,’ Gwyn said, clearing his throat. He flushed, ashamed, because after the damage he’d done, how could he want to do it again? But Augus had said it himself – he’d gotten hard, he would have come if Gwyn had kept doing it. And Augus was Capital fae, and they had the salve...

‘Oh, is that so?’ Augus laughed behind his closed mouth. ‘Good luck with that.’

Time passed and Augus’ breathing was even, slow. His eyes were closed. He looked like he was drifting off into a doze. Gwyn knew better than to think he was falling asleep.

‘What has been happening in your kingdom? Why is Albion here?’

Augus’ voice was sleep-soft, so benign. Gwyn closed his eyes.

‘You can’t help me.’

‘Tell me anyway,’ Augus said.

Gwyn took several deep breaths, and then told him about Albion’s visit, about all that Crielle likely had planned. Augus listened without comment, though he tensed halfway through. When Gwyn wound down to a finish and opened his eyes, Augus was watching him once more.

‘It’s easy,’ Augus said.

‘What is?’

‘If she was doing such a satisfactory job entertaining your Court, they’d be happy wouldn’t they? It’s easy to get around what she wants. Simply appoint someone from outside of the Court, aim for someone Capital or even Icturiel, someone she’d never lower herself to befriend. I don’t know, some...forest fae species, they hold intriguing parties from time to time, even on the Seelie side of things.

‘And when Albion questions you, tell him that it was obvious that Crielle wasn’t able to keep the fae happy, if they are so wanting for leisure and entertainment. Tell him that she has obviously done the best that she could, but that she would clearly benefit from outside experience. I’m sure you could think of some proverb about many hands lightening the load or something else inane. You’d be throwing whatever forest fae you nominated to the proverbial wolves, of course, because Crielle and her cliques sound like they’d tear them apart within weeks...but, it would buy you time to look for someone outside of Crielle’s influence whom you can trust, and then you install them into the same position.’

Gwyn stared at him, and Augus raised his eyebrows briefly, closed his eyes again.

‘Easy,’ Augus said again, quietly. ‘Why didn’t you think of it? You’re not an idiot when it comes to running your Court. Is it that she clouds your judgement? Never mind. Don’t answer.’

Silence stretched between them. Gwyn’s brow furrowed, he rested his own head in his palm where he sat on the bed. Over and over, a loud, droning voice inside of him: _Surrender, surrender, surrender..._

‘No it simply _can’t_ be,’ Gwyn said again. ‘I won’t allow it.’

‘Hm?’ Augus shifted onto his hip so that he could face Gwyn properly. ‘Oh. That.’

‘You did this to me,’ Gwyn whispered, despairing.

‘No,’ Augus said. ‘And you’re thinking about it the wrong way. If you surrender to your Court, then certainly, it is a tragic centre and I would be remiss if I didn’t slap you up and down your palace in response to _that._ But...ah, it’s powerful. You could surrender to _yourself,_ your needs, the things you _want,_ the things you _are._ You could do so much with it, if you pointed it in the right direction. Though in the meantime, you shall have to be careful.’

Gwyn almost laughed. Careful? In exactly the way he hadn’t been with Augus, giving himself away to him, over and over again. Even _today._ He’d been trying to make a point, and instead he’d ended up beneath him again, and glad of it.

‘At least realise that-’

A quiet knock on the door.

Gwyn turned quickly as a small envelope was pushed beneath the door. He got off the bed and picked it up, recognised the handwriting of one of his more literate trows.

The one he’d posted on the matter of Tigbalan. The only trow he trusted with the specifics of this task. Here then, was an answer, a possibility of allocating Augus with powers that would hold him in good stead if he was ever released. Something more than waterweed and underwater domes and nurturing wetlands.

He opened the envelope, read the missive quickly, felt a galvanising rush of tension and blood move through him.

‘I may be gone for a couple of weeks,’ Gwyn said, looking up from the letter. ‘I expect to only be gone about two days, but it could be much longer. The trows can get you whatever you need, and you’ll be safe if you keep to your rooms, the lake, and my personal rooms.’

Augus had lifted himself up onto his arms again, wide-eyed.

‘You haven’t told me everything, have you?’ he said.

‘Augus, I _can’t,’_ Gwyn said. ‘You’ll just have to...trust me.’

A pained moment as Augus narrowed his eyes, clearly unwilling to extend any trust at all. But Gwyn had to get ready, he had to leave. Tigbalan was willing to have an audience with him, but only if Gwyn went to him, and only if he left in the next few hours. The trows wouldn’t have interrupted him for anything less while he was in his own room.

‘Extend me a measure of trust,’ Gwyn said, and Augus’ eyes widened. He scowled and dropped back to the bed, making a sound of displeasure in his throat.

 _‘Fine,’_ Augus said. ‘But you had best-’

Gwyn was already teleporting away to where his travelling clothes were kept. He missed the end of the sentence, and wondered what Augus had been about to say even as he pulled on new clothing, even as he turned his mind to his task.

He hoped his Court would hold together in the meantime. Albion was there, and he had told the trows to let Albion know if he was called away on urgent business. But he didn’t much like the idea of leaving the Court in charge of Albion and Crielle, but he _needed_ to do this for Augus, and he knew – out of the Court and Augus – which mattered more. After that, it was easy to know what he had to do, he only hoped the cost wouldn’t be too high.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, 'Trade:'
> 
> ‘Don’t you dare fall unconscious,’ Augus said, voice unusually urgent, though what sign he was responding to in particular, Gwyn didn’t know. ‘Gwyn, _don’t,_ just stay with me a little lon-’


	30. Trade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New tags: Torture, (consensual) Somnophilia
> 
> *
> 
> The torture isn't by Augus, it's also primarily referred to in the past tense. This chapter features way more comfort than hurt, for those who need to know. 
> 
> I've had a particularly rough week, and all feedback is love. Particularly for this chapter which is actually one of my personal favourites (and twinned with the chapter after it). Thank you everyone for commenting, getting in touch on Tumblr, kudosing, or just quietly reading. I am so thankful for all of you.

Pain.

A scraping wetness with every breath. Bones grinding against each other. He was healing, but there had already been so much to heal from. His body’s healing capacity – even as King – had dramatically slowed down, he didn’t have nearly as much energy as he was used to. He swallowed down blood, mouthfuls of it, didn’t want to throw up, not _again_ , because the clotted masses he’d already brought up several times had been disgusting. And throwing up with broken ribs that were taking too long – _too long_ –to heal, was not an experience he wanted to repeat.

Dazed, stumbling, he ended up leaning against a tree and throwing up again anyway. The attack of gasping afterwards lasted far too long. He’d spent thousands of years involved in war, he’d been seized for torture on the rare occasion; but this was something else entirely. He couldn’t remember the last time, no, there had been no last time that he’d felt this bad.

_But I got what I came for._

He had a remarkable pain threshold. He’d always had a remarkable pain threshold. It came from his upbringing. It came from Efnisien’s prolonged, hours-long torture whenever Gwyn couldn’t get away from him, it came from his mother’s petty, excruciating torments, it came from extended battle, being tortured by professionals. It came in conjunction with the light, which hurt him about as much as it did everything else when he was using it for more than just teleportation. It didn’t just split the cells of everything around him, it scoured at the vessel that contained it as well.

So he thought he’d had an idea of what he was getting himself in for with Tigbalan. He knew he was out of his depth, he’d lost count of how many times his bones had been broken. It took an incredible amount of force to break the bones of a King or Queen of the Court. But that was what he needed; a fae strong enough to do give him what he needed, so he could help Augus. It just meant the price would be _high._

In the beginning, broken bones had seemed tolerable enough. His fae healing kicked in rapidly, and he’d ducked his head away from the leer that faced him and decided to just tough it out.

But after two days of it, he’d elected to withdraw into his mind and Tigbalan had left him alone and he’d thought it was _over,_ but he’d come back to himself twelve hours later, still healing, only to see the horse fae staring down at him. His eyes were glittery cold.

_‘Do not do this again, or there shall be no exchange.’_

The violence had continued.

For _days._

He had thought Augus knew a great deal about breaking someone. He had thought that he, actually, knew a great deal about what brute force meant. He had been proven wrong. At one point he had lifted his head, spine recently healed, spat out blood, said:

‘Do you intend to kill me?’

He didn’t know what he expected; banter, maybe, since Augus had always been so generous with it. But instead Tigbalan had only lashed out with a long forearm and shattered his right hip. An hour later he finally answered the question with a terrible, rippling:

‘ _I cannot.’_

Dripping from those words was a second message: _But I wish to._ And at that point, Gwyn realised that he had been practically naive, all his life. _Sheltered._ He thought he knew what torture looked like, he thought he understood how it worked. He was raised by _Lludd,_ for god’s sake. But most of the torment he experienced either ended after he withdrew into his mind, or seemed to cap off at the twelve hour mark – usually – and even when there were exceptions, he’d always survived it. His light had kicked in when he felt truly desperate.

But he couldn’t use his light now. Not if he wanted to complete the trade.

And this wasn’t a torture with any other purpose except violence in exchange for a gift. Tigbalan deemed when enough was enough, and it was his price to declare.

His hip had healed slowly, knitted together over a period of two days, and Tigbalan had confined himself to other torments in that time; breaking arms, legs, feet, showing an astounding, relentless amount of force, breaking to sleep for only a couple of hours at a time. Respite that never truly felt like respite.

As soon as his hip was whole again, Tigbalan had lashed out once more. Shattered it. And Gwyn had howled at the agony – somehow worse than the first time – and the pointlessness of it.

The trade had gone badly. Gwyn had a lot to offer; status, favours, treasures, land. He was wealthy. He had connections. He could blackmail favours out of Gulvi, which meant he had more power than previous Kings and Queens of the Seelie Court. He had never minded trading with the Unseelie fae, probably – as Augus had since informed him – because he was one. He was the first King of the Seelie Court in memory, apparently, who was so bent towards inter-alignment cooperation. Gwyn had thought it was because he was fair-minded, and maybe it was for a while. His centre had been justice, after all.

Augus had mentioned that he was a sentimental fool who just wanted everyone to get along.

He knew the ability to turn invisible would require a high price. It was a rare skill among the fae overall. Not only that, but it was considered inappropriate to give something so rare and powerful to a fae like Augus, who was already spoiled with power.

He’d heard mixed accounts of Tigbalan. He could be benevolent at times, but wildly malevolent at others. He enjoyed leading people off the path until they starved or drowned. But he could help others too. He was the best candidate out of a very short list of fae who could bequeath others with a power.

But Tigbalan hadn’t wanted treasure, or land, or assistance with battles. He’d only wanted one thing. And it was that, or nothing.

And Gwyn hadn’t wanted to agree. But what else could he do? It was important. He didn’t think he’d have another chance. Besides, he was tremendously hard to kill. Tigbalan was lower on the fae status ranking system than he was. If he just accepted the price, he could achieve something important. Something that no one else would try and do. And Augus had...Augus had kept his word so far. He hadn’t broken his blood-oath. His pretence of care had given Gwyn something that he didn’t know he’d ever receive, and even when it was long-gone, it would be something he could draw upon when he faced his future alone.

Gwyn could do this.

And so he _had_ done it. Eventually Tigbalan had gotten bored, and then after bored, idle torture, which was somehow a great deal worse than what he’d done with deliberate intent, he’d stopped abruptly and flicked blood off his hands.

‘ _It is done,’_ Tigbalan said.

Gwyn was lying, bleeding, on the floor. He’d managed to rasp, ‘Now?’

‘ _No. Bequeath it yourself. Say the words. It will be. Get out of my home. You are filth.’_

Tigbalan had stared at him impatiently while Gwyn dragged himself upright, and Gwyn wouldn’t look at him, couldn’t make eye contact, just told himself that it was worth it – it had to be – over and over again. It was that which allowed him to stagger out of Tigbalan’s home. That which allowed him to make his way into the jungle, an unfamiliar region. He leaned against the damp bark of a tree, tried to teleport, found he had almost no energy left to him. He pushed his forehead into bark and sobbed, agonising motions that jarred his whole body, hoping no one would see.

Tigbalan could make himself invisible. Maybe he could _see._

Gwyn dug his fingers into his opposing wrists and took several deep breaths that made him grit his teeth at the pain in his ribs each time. He had to concentrate. He had to get out of there. He had to put it behind him. He just needed to lie down, let his bones knit, because they would if he just lay down in his room. He just needed to _get there._ He’d never, ever felt weak enough that he didn’t know if he could teleport. Teleporting was the easiest thing, he’d never understood why other fae struggled with it so much. He could do it by the time he was thirty. And, being one of the few things his father permitted, he’d done it _all the time._

He was growing increasingly paranoid that Tigbalan could see him. If he didn’t get out of there soon, what if Tigbalan simply changed his mind and came back?

With a wrenching effort that made his spine turn to fire, he closed his eyes and willed the light to dissolve him. He reappeared back within his private rooms, falling immediately, wondering if his back hurt so much because it had been broken, or because he didn’t have the energy to teleport properly. He gasped and gasped, over and over again, wishing he would stop, because his lungs and ribs couldn’t take the huge, awful movements. And each exhale brought a pained sound, he couldn’t stop. It _hurt._

He tucked a forearm under his head and hunched in on himself, aware that he was still bleeding, wishing the room would stop spinning.

Every breath was more of a sob, his mouth hung open, sketching out embarrassing, humiliating sounds. But it was the only way he could bear the pain. He wrapped arms around his ribs. He curled around himself. The floor hurt, even though it was mossy. He didn’t know what room he’d landed in, except that he wasn’t in his innermost room. He hoped no one would see him like this.

Unconsciousness beckoned with cruel, rough fingers, and thrust him down into a dizzy spiral of black.

*

He heard a voice from a distance, for a moment he thought it was Tigbalan returning. He moaned.

‘Honestly, was your latest battlefield an _abbatoir?_ You positively reek of...’

Gwyn made an abortive sound. Denial. He didn’t want Augus to see him like this. He was almost certain he didn’t even look like himself. Days before, possibly even a _week_ ago _,_ he’d been forced to look at his reflection. His hair was so thickly matted with blood that he momentarily forgot he was supposed to be blonde. He curled in harder on himself, wished he could just disappear, but his ribs protested the movement so much that he gagged on it, reaching out and grabbing a fistful of moss, tearing it up from the ground.

Gwyn became aware of Augus crouching quickly by his side. And then the imprint of fingers lightly touching the side of his face, his shoulder. Then, a few seconds later, a firmer pressure as hands curled around his arm.

‘Turn over, Gwyn,’ Augus said, and Gwyn didn’t want to move. His healing was taking too long. He was King. It shouldn’t take this long. Augus pulled harder, and Gwyn made a terrible, rasping sound. His ribs, they were _bad._ He coughed helplessly, and groaned when blood sprayed out of his mouth.

_Not again._

A pause, a long one. Gwyn focused on catching his breath. He wasn’t sure, but he thought his back was improving. His spine didn’t feel so bad. When he felt a bare palm on his lower back, he realised he wasn’t wearing any clothes. He’d forgotten.

‘By the gods,’ Augus breathed, running his palm up until he could feel Gwyn’s heartbeat through his back.

‘Can you talk?’ Augus asked, and Gwyn didn’t say anything. He’d used up all of his talking when he’d stupidly said ‘now?’ to Tigbalan.

If he had words, he would let Augus know that he was about to get a new power. And that if he would please use it carefully, because it would take some time to integrate into his own natural abilities. And then Gwyn would just...give it to him. Apparently he could do that. He didn’t even know how.

The hand on his arm stroked down his bicep just once, then pulled again. Gwyn wished he would stop doing that.

‘I want to check to see how bad you are.’

_I’m lying on my side, coughing up blood. I think you know._

‘Gwyn, _who_...?’ Augus made a sound of frustration and then pulled insistently, supporting Gwyn’s lower back with his other hand. Gwyn found the intermittent, insistent pulling annoying. He realised Augus wasn’t going to stop. He gasped high and tried to follow the hands, but it was hard. Bones ground and shifted together, and Gwyn pressed a sound out between clenched teeth. He wanted so badly to disappear into his mind but Tigbalan hadn’t permitted it, and he was safe now, wasn’t he?

At least a little?

Halfway through shifting, Augus stopped and moved forward, placing his bent knees underneath Gwyn’s back, giving him support without making him lie fully back.

‘Stop, that’s enough,’ Augus said, and then lifted Gwyn’s hand where it was wrapped around his ribs and – Gwyn supposed – surveyed the damage.

Augus started swearing colourfully in about ten different languages, starting with English and Welsh, moving through Gaelic and then Finnish, and by that point Gwyn lost track and kept focusing on breathing because air would help his body heal faster. He didn’t want Augus to see him like this. He didn’t feel very well. Every time Augus shifted, he flinched. He didn’t mean to, but it had become an ingrained response. Tigbalan had struck out a lot. Eventually he introduced the joy of the faux strike, and at that point, Gwyn had given up trying to fight reflexive responses.

He felt dizzy.

‘Don’t you dare fall unconscious,’ Augus said, voice unusually urgent, though what sign he was responding to in particular, Gwyn didn’t know. ‘Gwyn, _don’t,_ just stay with me a little lon-’

Gwyn passed out.

*

There was marginally less pain when he woke. It still hurt to breathe, but his ribs had started knitting together properly while he’d been unconscious. Overall, though, his healing was dragging on. Tigbalan had taken him far beyond his endurance. His throat felt thick with blood, his breath rattled. All temporary things. If he could just get through it, and heal, he could put it behind him. This would just be one more in a long line of events that he had put behind him.

A hand settled on his shoulder, and he flinched again, gritting out a sound of pure frustration at the instinctive response.

‘Sweetness, I need you to drink this, it will help. It will taste foul, but given you seem to be oozing blood from your mouth at odd intervals, I’m sure you’ll manage.’

The hand at his shoulder became a palm smoothing flat behind his shoulder blade, and then up underneath his neck. It moved steadily, firmly, and then it lifted Gwyn’s head and there was a shriek of pain in the back of his skull where he’d forgotten a fracture.

Augus didn’t move his hand.

‘Drink,’ Augus said, and Gwyn thought he sounded shaky.

A glass against his lips and then a liquid that he could hardly open his mouth for, and it was terribly bitter, and he wanted to be good for Augus, but he coughed it out instinctively. He knew from the amount of wetness leaving his mouth, he was still coughing up blood.

_‘Lovely,’_ Augus muttered. ‘Try again.’

Knowing what to brace himself for, Gwyn blankly consumed a full glass of the stuff, unable to stop the small sound of distress he made when Augus placed a second glass to his lips. He shifted fractiously, and Augus hushed him.

‘One more, that’s all.’

Halfway through the second glass he started to gag, and once he’d calmed himself and took another sip, it happened again. Pain was ricocheting through him, and Augus placed the glass back down...wherever he placed it. Gwyn heard the sound, but he couldn’t seem to open his eyes.

‘You did very well,’ Augus said, and Gwyn wished he could lean into his voice. After the terrible words of Tigbalan, the soft-spoken voice of Augus was a boon.

He realised he likely hadn’t heard it for a week or two. He couldn’t remember exactly how long he was gone for.

Two fingers pressed at the pulse on his neck, while Augus’ other hand eased out from behind his head, lowering him down to what Gwyn realised dimly were pillows. He was on a bed.

The hand that had been behind Gwyn’s head, became a palm resting flat on his chest. Heartbeat and pulse, Gwyn realised, Augus was measuring both.

‘I will _murder_ you for this,’ Augus breathed.

It was the last thing Gwyn heard, as he rolled into unconsciousness once more.

*

His ribs were almost better, he was breathing deeply. He wondered if unconsciousness had become sleep, he couldn’t tell. Everything was disjointed. But he could tell Augus was there. He could tell he lay on something soft; a bed. He had fallen on hard ground so often, he had almost forgotten soft as anything more than the texture of his own body as it broke, over and over again.

‘Can you talk?’ Augus said again, and Gwyn rolled his head. He didn’t know. ‘Try, Gwyn.’

‘ _No,’_ Gwyn managed, and Augus sighed, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed. Gwyn realised he must have been moved. Augus’ strength always surprised him and it shouldn’t. But it did. All his life he was around men who showed their strength in muscle and brawn. But Augus was shorter, slighter, still powerful. He was lithe with the kind of musculature that spoke of ropey strength, tendons that could spring and snap back easily.

‘Good, Gwyn.’ Gwyn realised he sounded relieved. His voice faint with it. ‘Very good, sweetness. Listen to me carefully. I checked you over while you were unconscious. You are healing, but slowly. You’re in a bad way. I’m want to use my compulsion on you to help you feel better. Do you understand? I know you might not want me to, but it will help.’

Gwyn was shaking his head. As soon as Augus touched the side of his matted, ragged hair, Gwyn stopped.

‘ _Good,’_ Augus said softly, compulsion ringing heavy and syrup-sweet through his voice. Gwyn was surprised at how hard it hit him. This wasn’t like the time Augus had asked him to consciously let him in and he’d had a chance to resist before the compulsion had winnowed its way into his thoughts. This was...Gwyn realised he had nothing left, no defences.

Tigbalan was lucky he hadn’t simply exploded in light. He’d sensed he’d been close several times, and towards the end, it was a constant, conscious effort to hold it in. Tigbalan had _known_ that there was something there that Gwyn was holding back. He’d stepped up the violence towards the end. At least holding back his light had given Gwyn something to focus on.

Gwyn’s body became limp, relaxed boneless on the bed. The praise felt good. It was warm, he wanted to curl up in it. Augus sighed again, picked up a matted clump of hair and muttered something under his breath. A couple of minutes passed, Augus shifted.

‘How well you’re doing,’ Augus said softly. ‘You couldn’t stop me even if you wanted to, could you? At least I know how much damage has to be done to you for the compulsions to work without you willing it. I suppose this counts as research, for me.’

Gwyn tried to curl up further. He still felt the compulsion of praise rippling through him, waves on a shore, a tide coming in. He reached out a hand for Augus, ended up touching the side of his leg. He left it there, feeling himself shake uncontrollably. He hadn’t realised that was a problem, but he was aware of it now that he could feel how still Augus was.

‘Gwyn, _there’s less pain.’_

The sound of relief Gwyn made was almost embarrassing. Almost, except he didn’t have energy to care how he sounded, and embarrassment was not a great concern. There was only a frightening relief as the pain eased off, as it became easier to simply be in his body, even to breathe.

Augus caressed his face carefully. He curled the backs of his knuckles over Gwyn’s cheekbone, tracing the contours over and over, until Gwyn leaned into the touch. And Augus turned his hand around, pressed a lukewarm palm to his cheek. It felt cool, soothing. Augus kept his hand there for some time, and then lowered his palm to Gwyn’s shoulder.

‘ _You’re doing so well.’_ More of that honey-sweetness. Gwyn didn’t know that Augus could do this with his compulsions. He hoped he’d do it again one day. It felt amazing. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so good. He moaned in the back of his throat, tears leaked. It was good. He didn’t want Augus to stop.

Almost as though Augus was reading his mind, he said:

‘I should have done this a long time ago. Just look at you. But first things first. I am going to ask you some questions, do you understand? I am going to compel you to answer them. It may be uncomfortable. Try not to resist.’

‘Augus...’ Gwyn said, protest heavy throughout his whisper. It was easier to talk, though his breath still wheezed in his lungs. They were taking a long time to heal.

‘I know,’ Augus said, but while there was understanding in his voice, Gwyn could tell he wasn’t going to change his mind. He shook his head, and Augus squeezed his shoulder.

‘ _Who did this to you?’_

Gwyn groaned. Augus cut right to the chase, and Gwyn _didn’t_ want to say. The compulsion wove through him, pushed words to his tongue, and he managed resistance. Miraculously. But it _hurt._ The pain rushed back in a broken wave. He sobbed, and Augus made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat.

‘Stop resisting me, Gwyn, please. Just answer. I have to know. If you think you can turn up in your own quarters, looking like this, and expect me to leave it be... _Tell me.’_

The compulsion was harder this time, forceful, and Gwyn flinched even as it ripped up through his mind, tearing the answer out from where he was trying to shield it.

‘Tigbalan.’

A long silence.

‘If I’d known you’d wanted to scene with another horse fae, I could have organised that for you,’ Augus drawled, but there was a thread of worry in the tightness of his voice. He sounded disapproving, and Gwyn cringed away from it. The pain was bad again. He felt awful. Even the five minutes of respite had brought back just how terrible it felt when it returned.

‘ _Relax,’_ Augus said, smoothing fingers over Gwyn’s temple.

‘Don’t ask me why,’ Gwyn managed as his body hurt less almost immediately. ‘Don’t, please. I’ll tell you. It has to wait. I was doing something. I’ll tell you.’

‘It has to wait... you were _doing something?’_ Augus sounded sceptical, he grunted. ‘Fine, you will tell me later. _How long did he hurt you for?’_

‘How long was I gone?’ Gwyn said. It was the only answer the compulsion would allow, Gwyn didn’t know, and he had to ask in order to answer. The compulsion waited, Augus was silent for several seconds.

‘Two weeks,’ Augus said.

‘Two weeks,’ Gwyn repeated back to him, not wanting to resist a compulsion again, even though he shuddered to hear himself succumb so easily. He usually found it so easy to naturally resist Augus’ compulsions. To know that they were affecting him so profoundly, without having lowered his internal barrier to them first, was disturbing. Augus was too powerful. He’d had enough of powerful fae to last him a lifetime. He shuddered and then his eyes squeezed shut. He didn’t like this.

‘Two...’ Augus took a deep breath, it shook in his lungs. ‘Two _weeks? Like this?’_

Gwyn nodded, knowing exactly what Augus was compelling. Augus didn’t need to be verbally explicit to get the answers he wanted. He just needed to have intent to divine the answer.

‘Now I know why you are not healing, at least.’

‘I’m...healing,’ Gwyn said, around the tightness in his lungs, the fire in his gut.

‘Like a King? Please. More like underfae. Something tells me I’m going to be furious when I find out your reasons for this, since I’m halfway there right now.’

Gwyn whimpered. He didn’t want Augus to be angry at him. Not on top of everything else. He started to shake his head, but Augus hushed him and curled a hand around his face.

‘Sweetness, my dear h-’

Augus cleared his throat.

‘Sweetness, be calm. Be easy. You need sleep, Gwyn. We need to talk about this, but you need to heal more. Do you understand? I’m going to compel you to sleep.’

‘No,’ Gwyn murmured. ‘I don’t w-’

‘I don’t give a damn _what_ you want,’ Augus hissed, tone shifting rapidly. ‘You accepted this, I can _tell._ I can tell, because you would have teleported out of there as soon as you’d had enough, otherwise. You let some fae who you hardly know...’ Augus’ fingers clenched into Gwyn’s shoulder, and he flinched. Tigbalan had done similar, except his fingers had dug deeper, and deeper, until horny nails had hit bone, and then marrow, and he’d _screamed._

And then Tigbalan had said:

_‘How long until you heal this time?’_

And then he’d done it again.

Breathing was getting hard. His ribs and lungs hurt too much for hyperventilation, but his need for air wouldn’t listen to the pain. He felt like he was ripping his own chest apart.

The fingers at his shoulder unclenched immediately, and then Augus was touching his face again, lightly, panicked.

‘Gwyn, what-? Gwyn, _relax.’_

Gwyn was grateful. Grateful for the compulsions. His body wouldn’t listen to him otherwise. He sagged back down again, eyes fluttering closed.

‘Nothing can happen like this, you must sleep. Your body needs to recover. I think your spine was broken.’

Gwyn sighed out a breath of laughter.

‘More than once,’ he managed, hardly able to care. The compulsion to encourage him to relax was still pulsing through him. It was a reverberating message. Every time he heard it again, his muscles released more of their tension.

‘More than...’ Augus was still for a long time. So long the compulsion had begun to wear off. Compulsions were strange things. They became stronger the longer they were resisted. But if accepted immediately, they usually lasted no longer than a few minutes.

‘Let your body rest,’ Augus said, though there was a hard edge to his voice. Gwyn tensed, hissed, and Augus tugged at a clump of his hair.

‘ _Sleep,’_ he said, and Gwyn slipped off straight away, glad for it.

*

When he woke, he was shaking violently. He shifted in his bed, weighed down with blankets, and his hair no longer felt stuck to his head. He reached up and noticed it was clean, untangled, and blinked. It meant that Augus had, at some point, probably taken him to the lake or shower and cleaned him up.

It no longer hurt to breathe, but his body felt clumsily put together. His bones felt only newly knitted, and when he shifted up onto his elbows, he was surprised at how much pain he was still in.

_How long will it take to heal? I don’t remember anything taking this long, not even when I was Court._

He leaned against the wealth of pillows behind him, closed his eyes. Even that much movement left him exhausted. He was glad to be clean again. And surprised that he was dressed. At some point Augus had pulled a simple, pale tunic over him. It was good to have the barrier of clothing again. He couldn’t even remember how his other clothes had been ripped off him, only that they had been, and he had protested at the time. His memories of his ordeal with Tigbalan were becoming distorted.

He was still shaking.

He startled when Augus walked in, and then his mouth dropped open when Augus dropped a plastic bag of barley sugar into his lap, before dragging a chair over and sitting down. He looked to be in a black, unimpressed mood.

Gwyn didn’t want to deal with that. He pushed the packet of barley sugars off his lap and threw back the blankets, swallowing down any sounds of pain, pretending he was fine.

‘I swear, Gwyn, if you get up and leave, I’m not going to hold myself accountable for what I do next,’ Augus said.

Gwyn paused halfway through easing himself out of the bed. He looked warily at Augus, who glared at him, arms folded. He looked like he meant it. That was not an empty threat. He didn’t think he wanted to deal with an angry, vengeful Augus on top of everything else. He paused, then slid back into bed, pulled the blankets back up. He tried to make it look like it was his idea, but the shaking made that difficult.

Augus watched him, and then when he seemed satisfied that Gwyn wasn’t about to leave, he leaned forwards, eyes narrowing.

‘What would possess you to go and get yourself beaten to within an inch of your life by one of the ugliest horse fae on the planet? I want some answers. I might not be able to compel them out of you as easily now, but I have other methods, and I _will_ use them. You seem to care so little about your body anyway, it wouldn’t matter _what_ I did to you, would it?’

Gwyn cleared his throat. There was still a metallic taste in the back of his mouth. He wondered if he felt so poorly because his internal organs were still healing.

He closed his eyes, he had to tell Augus eventually. He’d done this with Augus in mind, he just hadn’t expected the cost to be so high. Even now, he still felt like he hadn’t entirely escaped the jungle. He felt that same queasiness that had accosted him when Tigbalan had become invisible, and Gwyn had several days not knowing what would happen next, where the blow would come from or when. Well, he _knew_ what would happen next; a lot of violence. But not knowing where, or when, or how hard, or how much. That had been impossible. He had a vague memory of pleading for mercy and he flushed, humiliated.

He _never_ did that.

‘It was on the matter of your release.’

Augus inhaled sharply.

‘I’m sorry? I seem to have...misheard you. My _release?_ As in, my release from what, exactly? _’_

‘Captivity,’ Gwyn said, licking at his lips and tasting a sticky balm on them, beeswax and something else. He was momentarily jarred by the attentiveness of Augus’ care, and then when Augus cleared his throat again, Gwyn turned his mind back to the subject.

‘I have been thinking about the problem of what you will do, if you are ever released,’ Gwyn said, finding a measure of command and pushing it into his voice. He sounded serious. He sounded like he was sitting in at a meeting. That was good. That made it easier. ‘Your life will be in real danger, and...’

_And I would like to minimise that, if at all possible. Release is not truly a second chance, unless you have more tools at your disposal to deal with the wrath of the fae Kingdoms._

‘I remembered once that the Raven Prince had added a broad-spectrum shapeshifting ability to his entourage of powers by trading for it. He hardly used it once he received it, preferring raven form, but he had it, nonetheless. I set about making a list of fae whom would trade a certain quality of power I was looking for.’

‘Tigbalan,’ Augus said, narrowing his eyes. And then he blanched, turning his lambent green eyes into fervent sparks. ‘You _didn’t.’_

‘Invisibility is a rare power. Rarer still to be offered to another fae. And then to be offered to one who is already powerful? There were very few fae I could approach for this.’

Augus stood, he kicked back the chair and stood over Gwyn, staring down at him. Gwyn couldn’t pick the expression on his face. He shifted until he was more comfortable and stared down at his shaking hands.

‘He didn’t want land, or wealth, or an invite into the Unseelie Court – which you _know_ I can organise, now that I have Gulvi eating out of the palm of my hand. I have an unprecedented ability to get what I want, from whomever I want, since the change in Court politics. Unseelie or Seelie.’

‘Excellent, that’s wonderful news,’ Augus said faintly. ‘And as you said, he didn’t want any of that, did he?’

‘You can guess the rest. I was there for two weeks. He did what he did. I came back. I have the power. I would like to wait until I’m better before I give it to you.’

Augus breathed in loudly through his nose, and then again. Gwyn looked up at him, feeling a little numb, but more like himself than he had when he’d left Tigbalan. It turned out that having his hair being clean and being in familiar surroundings was helping a great deal.

‘You’re not planning on keeping it for yourself?’ Augus said, and Gwyn shrugged, winced.

‘What would I do with it? I don’t need it. I didn’t get it for me, and I don’t want it now.’

‘Oh, _oh you stupid, idiotic...’_ Augus trailed off and turned away from Gwyn. He walked over to Gwyn’s writing desk and put his hands on it, braced himself. He was taking huge, deep breaths. But whatever he was doing, it didn’t seem to be working. He started trembling, and then he ripped the wooden desk directly off its fixtures, out of the wall and threw it onto its side with so much force that the wood impacted, split, collapsed upon itself. Splinters flew everywhere. Years of ink canisters, fountain pens, paper work and bits and pieces were crushed in the impact.

Gwyn blinked. Augus was _strong._

Augus stood over the shattered table, hands clenched, breathing audibly.

‘I hope you can replace that. It’s an antique,’ Gwyn said, sitting up straighter.

He reared back in bed when Augus turned that fury on him, marching over and grabbing him by the hair, dragging his head back. He glared at Gwyn, bared his teeth, they looked _sharper._ Gwyn’s head hurt. There was the shadowy phantom pains of head wounds, of Tigbalan. His skull had been fractured. The pain was a reminder. He cringed, he couldn’t help it. Augus noticed, and he hissed alarmingly, his fingers tightened in Gwyn’s hair.

‘Normally I would be quite charmed at the fact that you were managing something like _flippancy_ right now, even though you are clearly still broken beyond mention and flinching at sounds in your _sleep._ But it is _not_ charming, and you are a _fool._ If you expected my gratitude, you don’t have it. If you...’

Augus trailed off, his eyes squeezed shut.

‘You are never, ever, _ever,_ to do something like that again. _Ever._ You clear it with me. You cannot be _trusted,_ you will not even preserve your own physical integrity, I can’t-’

‘I couldn’t have died,’ Gwyn said mildly.

‘ _Yes!_ You _could_ have! And it is not as though the worst thing in this world is _death,’_ Augus spat, ‘you stupid, naive, boorish, impossible, ungrateful, ri-’

Gwyn blinked.

‘Were you worried about me?’ he said, much more mildly than he felt. His heart started pounding in his chest. He’d wondered, very briefly, if he’d seen signs in the past, but it had always been brief, always been quashed, because Augus was _Augus,_ and it was impossible, a game. But he’d not seen Augus lose control before, not out of _concern._ It was disconcerting. It sent a feeling very like butterfly wings racing through his chest.

‘Was I _worried_ about you,’ Augus said flatly, staring at Gwyn like he’d just spoken another language. ‘You- What do you think we’ve been _doing_ over the past two months?’

He let go of Gwyn’s hair with a jerk, as though it had electrocuted him. His eyes widened with horror and he ran a hand through his hair, catching on tangles, ripping the fingers through carelessly.

‘ _This_ is obviously why you thought it was okay to do this. What is _wrong_ with you? No, don’t tell me. I can _guess_. We’ve been up and down the garden path of your atrocious, dismal childhood, and I don’t need you to say a _thing._ You are _useless,_ Gwyn ap Nudd.’

Gwyn wrapped an arm around his torso, drew his legs up. The part of him that was used to running a kingdom wanted to say; ‘Are you quite done?’ The rest of him, the huge mess of the rest of him that was used to being peeled back and exposed by Augus had been shocked into silence.

Augus glared at him.

‘Do you think I haven’t had opportunities to see myself released, many times over? Do you think I haven’t seen pathways through the cracked, miserable shell of your inner walls, that I don’t know how to _use_ you? That I couldn’t have _made_ you get me this power if I wanted it? Of course I want to not be captive, but this situation has gotten laughably complicated in quite a shortspace of time, and you-’

Augus started to laugh, and then immediately cut himself off, swallowing. Gwyn didn’t think he’d seen Augus this out of control since his nightmare. And what he was saying was even more shocking, more unbelievable.

‘Oh, I know, I have given you no reasons to trust me and I don’t think you _should,_ because I know what I am and I wouldn’t tell anyone – except _Ash –_ to trust me. But-’

Augus stared at him, and then his teeth clenched shut, he stared down at the ground, his fists clenched by his sides.

‘I can’t talk to you about this,’ Augus said. ‘You won’t hear me. You _can’t.’_

Gwyn stared at him. He plucked nervously at one of the blankets. He realised that Augus had said he could make Gwyn release him. Was that what was happening, even now? His brow furrowed, confusion another pain amongst the many lurking inside him.

‘Why haven’t you asked for the power yet?’ he said, and Augus laughed.

‘You don’t hear anything I say, do you? It just goes in one ear and out the other. You are...’

Augus clearly couldn’t think of how to finish the sentence. He stared at Gwyn, a calculating look on his face. Then he stalked over and ripped the blankets off, resting one knee on the bed and leaning over him.

‘Look, you’re _still_ flinching. That’s a good look for you, Gwyn. Tsk tsk. I’m sure that’s going to give each and every one of your Seelie Court a great deal of confidence in you. And this?’

He pressed the heel of his palm into Gwyn’s ribs, and Gwyn gasped, scrabbling at Augus’ wrist, trying to remove it and failing.

‘ _This_ is not better yet, not properly healed, because you traded your energy, your _integrity,_ for a power that you’re not even going to use. You’re just going to give it away. _Stop fighting me, damn it.’_

The compulsion rocketed into Gwyn hard, and he sagged backwards, eyes widening in surprise. He hadn’t expected that. He’d expected to be back to full resistance, or at least nearly there. He frowned, and Augus frowned back at him, equally surprised.

‘Fight however much you want,’ Augus said, releasing him from the compulsion immediately. ‘All of this... I can just imagine you, stoically telling yourself that it was worth it. We waterhorses, we stick together. We know of each other’s reputations, each other’s methods. It’s the way we are. A close bunch. I know of Tigbalan. I haven’t met him, but I know of him. I know that once he starts, he doesn’t stop until he’s sated. I know it can take days. He feeds off violence the way I feed off people. You were just _food_ to him, and he probably had the best meal he’s _ever_ had, beating on a King that just _let_ him. You make me _sick,_ honestly, just looking at you.’

Gwyn’s mouth turned dry, he jerked backwards, heart pounding.

‘It was the price. I would do it again,’ he said.

Augus’ eyes widened impossibly.

‘Don’t you _dare_ say that,’ his voice nothing more than a forceful whisper. ‘Not _ever_ again _.’_

Gwyn was hit with a sudden wash of fear. He pressed himself back in the bed, staring at Augus, horrified. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It couldn’t be real. It was...Stockholm Syndrome. Those humans might be contemptuous, but they had a name for every malady. He had done this, somehow, hadn’t Augus once said he could be like his father? He had done this. He scrambled sideways to get out of the bed, to catch his breath, and Augus blocked him in, staring down with narrowed eyes.

‘You just can’t deal with it, can you?’ Augus said, and Gwyn swallowed at how cold his voice was. ‘I know how much you want someone to care about you, it is practically the driving force behind your whole personality. And then you get it, and look at you.’

‘Get out,’ Gwyn said, flat, and Augus laughed quietly.

‘No, actually. I rather think I’m just going to get comfortable.’ He pushed Gwyn down onto the bed, so that he was no longer in a sitting position. Straddled him, a small smile on his face that had nothing of cheer in it. Augus was careful, his knees weren’t pressed close against Gwyn’s ribs. He held the majority of his weight up and off Gwyn’s internal organs. Gwyn shifted, and Augus raised his eyebrows.

‘You’ve already guessed, but I’ll remind you, shall I? Someone checked you over, picked you up, dragged your immense, clunky frame into the lake. That someone washed your hair, cleaned any open wounds that were remaining, pushed two bones _back_ into your body, dressed you, and only left your side to check with the trows your preferred foods – one of which is apparently pure _sugar –_ and mixed tinctures for you from herbs that have possibly depleted your treasury, I can’t say I really care about that part. I haven’t left your side, waiting for you to waken properly. Which, I must add, took you forever. You were very determined to sleep for a long time. Why, it’s almost as though you needed it, because of how _brutalised_ you’d been.’

‘You did all of that because I’m your captor,’ Gwyn said. ‘Let’s not beat around the bush here, Augus. Because I’m your captor, and you feel indebted to me.’

Augus’ expression turned from easily mocking, to thunderous.

‘I beg your pardon? Say that again. _Go on._ Ask me how _indebted_ I feel, that you stripped me of my powers and threw me in a cell for six months.’

‘It happens,’ Gwyn said, and then groaned as Augus settled his weight down fully and a dull pain throbbed through his torso. It was a petty revenge, it highlighted just how fragile Gwyn still felt.

‘It _does._ I’m familiar. I’m more familiar than you, you clod. Don’t talk to me about something that is in my wheelhouse. Don’t _dare_ to think you have as much finesse as _he_ did. You don’t have the stomach for it. You cast me into darkness once and then promised to never do it again. He cast me into darkness for _months,_ and wouldn’t _stop._ ’

‘This isn’t real,’ Gwyn heard himself say.

Augus snarled at him, opened his mouth and Gwyn cringed, cringed because he couldn’t help it, because the muddled mess of those two weeks were not so far away from his mind, because he didn’t want Augus to snarl at him about this. Not this. He needed time. He was slow to catch up to things that everyone else knew. He’d always been like that. He wasn’t going to change now, just because Augus wanted him to.

Augus deflated. He swung off to the side and lay his body alongside Gwyn’s. He looked exhausted. There were smudges under his eyes, a faint frown at his lips.

‘Do you know how weak you became, that my compulsions are _still_ working upon you?’ Augus said, reaching down with a languid arm and piling blankets upon them both. For someone who enjoyed sleeping underwater, Augus was addicted to creature comforts. Gwyn couldn’t be certain, but he thought the thread-count of his sheets might be higher.

‘ _Relax,’_ Augus said, soothingly. Gwyn experienced a moment of instinctive struggle, and then his will bent in the direction Augus wanted it to go. He sighed. He hadn’t realised how tense he’d been.

Fingers started trailing through his hair, and Gwyn’s eyes fluttered closed. He could hardly process anything Augus had said to him, wasn’t sure he should, wanted to wait until he was healed and less vulnerable before thinking about any of it.

‘Oh, Gwyn,’ Augus said, laughing to himself. ‘I’m too lazy for it. I’m too lazy to do what you think I’ve been doing. Sweetness, I only managed that sort of effort once in my life, and I could only manage it because I was infected with madness.’

‘Don’t you want the power?’ Gwyn said, confused. He’d expected Augus to practically start salivating as soon as he knew that it was a possibility.

‘It can wait,’ Augus said. ‘I have a feeling I’m going to be quite distracted, if the transfer actually works. I haven’t had a new power to play with in some time.’

Gwyn nodded, and then closed his eyes when Augus nosed the side of his head.

‘ _Very good,’_ Augus said, throwing the full weight of his compulsion behind it. Gwyn shivered at the curls of warmth that spread through him. They were soothing like a campfire, or hearth-fire. He sighed, and then groaned softly when Augus placed a hand on his chest.

‘You are soaking this up like a sponge for a change,’ Augus said, ‘Who knew a little compulsion could go such a long way? You, like this, is very nice. Your forehead is relaxed. You’re hardly frowning.’

At that, Gwyn frowned. Augus chuckled, and then he lowered his lips to Gwyn’s ear, breathing a tickling breath against him.

‘Gwyn, _you are never to put yourself in danger like that again, without checking with me first. Do you understand?’_

Gwyn’s breath hitched as he tried to force the compulsion out of his mind. He inhaled sharply, a sheen of sweat broke out over his forehead. It wasn’t shifting, and he bent his will against it, but could feel himself faltering. He had been made so weak. He knew then, it would take him days to get his ability to resist Augus’ compulsions back to where it had been. He held his breath, and then groaned when his head began to ache.

‘Don’t fight it,’ Augus said, breath ghosting into his ear. ‘Don’t fight me in this.’

‘Withdraw it,’ Gwyn groaned, and Augus shook his head.

‘Just let it happen,’ Augus said. ‘Accept. Stop fighting me, Gwyn. Not in this. This is not a battle you can win.’

Gwyn’s hands clenched, he tried to hold onto his reasons for not wanting to accept the compulsion, but it was getting harder. The more he resisted, the larger it grew, until all he could hear and feel was the strength of it. He began to shake violently, and Augus kept telling him, over and over, to stop fighting. There was no compulsion behind any of those words, but a quiet persistence that wore at him.

A line of resistance snapped in his mind and he gasped as the compulsion flooded through him. There was pain again, tension, and he hardly heard Augus compelling him to relax once more, but he felt the effects of it. Augus was rubbing circles into his chest, whispering things that Gwyn hardly heard over the watery rush in his own mind. Eventually the storm of it cleared, and Gwyn’s breathing settled.

‘You will, of course, ignore it later,’ Augus said, ‘when you’re back at full strength. But I believe my point is made. You need to know, you can’t be trusted with your own welfare. Your actions go beyond yourself. You put the entire Seelie Court in jeopardy, Gwyn. Did you think of that? Of course not. Their King disappeared for days, allowed a powerful Unseelie fae to torture him, did you not think that Tigbalan will likely brag about it? He swears no oaths of secrecy when it comes to his violence. Only when it comes to what he’s trading the violence for. Are you prepared for strangers to come up and ask you what you did it for?

‘And more, Gwyn. What would have had happened if you had died? Indulge my narcissism, which I think you’ll find easy, as you got this power for _me._ What would have happened to me if you had died? Kingship would have transferred to your King-in-Waiting – Albion – and he would have discovered me. What then?’

Gwyn swallowed, shook harder. He hadn’t considered any of that. Augus reached up to stroke his forehead, and Gwyn flinched. Augus sighed and lowered his fingers, tracing the corrugations in his brow.

‘Not to mention that you have been traumatised. Something I didn’t think you could achieve if the only trigger was violence.’

Gwyn shook his head, squeezed his eyes shut. He hesitantly thought that Augus might be right. Normally he could shrug it off. Sometimes he experienced a day or two of desolation after torture, but then he was fine, it was pain that went away, and that was all it was. He endured.

Augus withdrew his hand, brought it back to the top of his head, and Gwyn flinched again.

Augus sighed.

‘My dear heart, this will take some time. It takes time.’

Gwyn’s eyes widened at the endearment. He turned his head to stare at Augus, and Augus only returned his gaze evenly. He looked sad.

‘What did you call me?’ Gwyn said, his voice weak.

‘You heard me,’ Augus said. ‘Do you think it’s a trick? Of course you do.’

‘You...’

‘Look it up, if you must. You have all those libraries. Maybe they can teach you something that’s not about _war_ for a change.’

‘You shouldn’t say it,’ Gwyn said. He swallowed. They were the right words, he was sure, but he felt like he was strangling something important inside of himself as he said it.

‘You don’t get to dictate what I should or should not do. And out of the two of us, who is the one susceptible to compulsions right now? Now shut up and get better, because this is tedious.’

Gwyn shook his head slightly, stared up at his ceiling.

‘I couldn’t go on like this, with you being a prisoner. It was the only way.’

Augus stilled, then pressed himself closer to Gwyn.

‘You should have come to me. I have contacts too. If I had known you were planning something so stupid...’

‘I didn’t know if it would work. I still don’t know,’ Gwyn laughed.

‘I’m not even remotely done being angry about this,’ Augus said. ‘I think you should perhaps brace yourself for a couple of months of me not being done with this. And, also, you need a new table. Possibly some new inkpots.’

‘I can’t believe you. I thought you’d be jumping all over the place at the prospect of a new power.’

‘Firstly, I don’t _jump all over the place._ Ever. Secondly, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t excited, but as I am still your prisoner, and can only really use invisibility for ambushing you when you least expect it, it can wait. I can ambush you anyway. Thirdly, do you know how powerful I am? Please. You haven’t seen many signs of it, because for a while, I thought you might revoke my status if you realised what you’d done. But you _do_ realise, don’t you? The Raven Prince used to remark on how powerful I was when I was _underfae_ , before he invited me into his Court.’

Gwyn shivered. He had an idea. He’d known when he’d felt the power swirling back to Augus. But he’d always known. Augus had accepted himself and the full breadth of his powers early, and due to practice, and time, and possibly heredity, he was just an immensely powerful creature. Even Ash was unusually powerful for a waterhorse, but his powers paled in comparison next to his older brother.

‘Oh,’ Augus said in delight, pulling Gwyn closer, ‘you _do_ realise. It scares you.’

‘Of course you’d like that,’ Gwyn grumbled, and then only just managed to swallow down the sound of pain he nearly made, when Augus squeezed his arm around him.

Augus stilled. He lifted, looked at Gwyn’s face closely.

‘Gwyn, how bad is the pain?’ Augus said, alert, and Gwyn shrugged.

‘Had worse,’ he said, which was true. He’d certainly felt worse than this. Very recently, in fact.

Augus made a sigh of the long-suffering, loosened the band of his arm around Gwyn’s torso.

‘Gwyn, _it doesn’t hurt anymore.’_

The compulsion was a miracle, Gwyn was sure. It was the first time he’d felt pain-free in days, and he made an embarrassing, relieved sound that he hoped he wouldn’t remember later. On the heels of the lack of pain, came a wave of exhaustion, forcing a huge yawn out of him. Nothing hurt. His ribs didn’t hurt. His head didn’t hurt.

‘You could help other people so much, with an ability like that,’ Gwyn said, and Augus huffed a breath of amused air.

‘I prefer to use it when I’m hunting, but this will do in a pinch. I think you should sleep again, Gwyn. Maybe you won’t be shaking when you wake up. Imagine the novelty. Now _sleep.’_

*

He woke up over-heated, warmth all around him. There was a vague, dull pain, but it was nothing like before. He was hard, sweaty, and in his dream he was being worked over by Augus who...

Gwyn blinked awake quickly. He had been rolled over almost completely onto his stomach, two slick fingers moving rhythmically inside him. It hadn’t been a dream at all. There was a thin layer of sweat between them where they touched. At some point Gwyn had either shrugged out of the tunic – he preferred to sleep naked – or Augus had coaxed it off him. He sobbed out a groan, and Augus smiled against the back of his neck.

‘Welcome back, took you long enough.’

‘Augus,’ Gwyn groaned, his whole body undulating as Augus hooked his fingers up, dragged them down with an intense focus. The fingers went back to thrusting languidly, and hot flashes of light were bursting behind his eyes. He reached out with an arm and dug his fingers into the sheets, pushed his forehead into the bed.

‘I want simple,’ Augus said, pushing Gwyn down further, and sliding between his legs, already hard. Gwyn went with the motion, grinding his cock down into the bed and realising that he didn’t have long. He never had long, but this...he wondered how long Augus had been penetrating him while he’d been asleep. He wondered at the fact that he didn’t mind. ‘You’re a terrible influence on me. I will never forgive you.’

‘You...like simple,’ Gwyn managed, blinking dazed as he felt Augus reach behind him and slick himself up with lubricant.

‘I like _slow.’_

Augus kicked Gwyn’s legs wider, until Gwyn felt the stretch in his thighs, felt spread open. His hips felt like a dull bruise, but it was distant. Claw tips dragged down his back, lines of pain that were liquid fire moving through him, and his back arched, he groaned at the feel of it. The electric thrill of it was a fierce bolt of pleasure straight to his cock, and Augus did it again, humming in amusement and pleasure.

Then Augus slid into him, and Gwyn couldn’t think anymore.

Augus didn’t stop until he’d bottomed out inside of him, and Gwyn shifted restlessly around the stretch, around the heat of it. He placed his forearm under his head, muffled a long, low noise into his own skin.

‘Always with this,’ Augus breathed, ‘always. _Move your arm.’_

Gwyn shook his head even as his arm moved away. And then he stilled. The compulsions were _still_ working. _Still._

‘Are you getting it now?’ Augus said, undulating his hips and making a sound of disapproval when Gwyn pushed his head into the bed to muffle the sound directly in the mattress. ‘Do you understand low on power you truly are? Resisting compulsions has always been easy for you. It was something you don’t have to _try_ at. I can tell when someone struggles to resist one of my compulsions and you don’t. You flick them off like drops of water. Even my strongest compulsions, when you are at normal strength, are not even irritants. And now...’

Augus kept moving, Gwyn was finding it hard to concentrate.

‘ _Turn your head to the side. I want to hear you.’_

Gwyn thought it was unfair that Augus was using this particular instance as a demonstration of how weak he was. He rather thought that anyone would have problems resisting Augus’ compulsions while Augus was actually inside of them. Augus moved his hips fluidly, showing all signs that he was water fae, rolling his hips on the downstroke in a way that yanked deep, relentless sounds from Gwyn’s throat. Sounds that Augus could now hear properly, because of the compulsions.

‘Good,’ Augus breathed. ‘Good, I like this. Are you close? Do I even have to ask? I have a trick I’ve been wanting to show you. Might as well...show you now.’

Gwyn couldn’t concentrate, he was close, Augus didn’t seem intent on dragging anything out. He wasn’t teasing, even his conversation was far more breathless and abrupt than usual.

'Gwyn, I want you to really _feel_ what I’m doing to you.’

The compulsion only hooked in on that one word, but it turned Gwyn’s world upside down.

He blanked out as a crashing rush of heat split him, as his nerves lit up in flares. Augus was saying something, but he couldn’t hear it. He didn’t know he could feel like this. He started to come almost immediately, but he could hardly tell, because it was all sparks and open flames inside of him and he didn’t think he could bear it, but Augus wouldn’t stop moving, and his nervous system was keeping him preoccupied, throwing up wave after wave of sensory feedback.

He was still moaning on every exhale long after he’d stopped coming, even when Augus had paused – hard as ever – inside of him. He could hear Augus’ breathing, he could hear his own; ragged and exhausted. He was tired _again._ He couldn’t remember ever having woken up so many times in a row, to so much exhaustion.

‘Good, wasn’t it?’ Augus said, sounding inordinately pleased with himself. Gwyn hummed in assent. It was good. He was oversensitive, he couldn’t stop being aware of Augus inside of him. ‘Let’s keep going. I’m not done with you yet.’

Augus started to move again, an easy, flowing rhythm that scraped at Gwyn’s sensory feedback and had him grasping, helpless, at sheets, until Augus reached up and threaded his fingers through Gwyn’s. Augus’ earlier compulsions had finally worn off, and Gwyn pressed his mouth back to the bed, muffling the noises, hiding the pained exhales, the kick up into higher registers. He was so sensitive, it felt good, he ached. The healing in his body blended with what Augus was doing, and turned it all to a lazy, throbbing pleasure.

Gwyn knew that Augus had ridiculous stamina, knew that he would simply wait until Gwyn got hard again, would keep moving until sensitivity pushed into the impossible feeling that he would spiral up and outwards and come, _again._ He became suddenly aware that Augus was doing this for him. This wasn’t Augus’ usual style of doing _anything._ It hit him with a shocked exhale, and he started to twist back, to look over his shoulder, but Augus pushed him back down again.

‘Focus,’ Augus said. ‘Relax.’

There was no compulsion in either of the words, but there might as well have been. He sunk back down to the bed, his hips moving up to match Augus’ moments, his hand flexing as Augus squeezed at his palm.

Augus didn’t compel him to turn his head to the side again. Gwyn was grateful. He felt himself begin to get hard a second time and shook his head, because this wasn’t his usual style either. He fucked once, he left, that was it. But Augus always dragged it out, showed Gwyn that he was not just a war machine, a functional creature, forced him to see this other side of himself, where he could be reduced to syllables and sounds and shifting restlessly, seeking.

Worse, Augus made him want to stay there, made him want to be the one being tamed. Augus simply thought of Gwyn as someone who needed to be dominated. Gwyn didn’t usually think of himself as the one who needed to be subdued, but Augus demanded it with a matter-of-fact casualness that made it easy to accept.

He gasped loudly when Augus changed the rhythm, moving faster, driving towards his own release. Augus braced himself up on one arm, and released Gwyn’s hand with his other, moving it down and grasping him by the hip, changing the angle until Gwyn’s whole body shuddered. Augus laughed, thrust harder, and Gwyn’s shoulders bunched together. He lifted up, dropped his forehead to the bed, gasped hoarsely as Augus snapped his hips forwards.

‘Who belongs...to who?’ Augus said, and laughed again as Gwyn moaned thickly, tears springing to his eyes at the sensation of it all. ‘I could have gotten you to let me go, some time ago. I could compel my release in a heartbeat, and could have done so multiple times...over the past few days. But I’m...going to live for a long time. And I’m having _fun,_ doing this with you.’

Gwyn was close again, it wound up tight inside of him, caused a sharp ache to race through his gut, draw up tight in his balls.

‘ _Keep your light back, and feel,’_ Augus ground out, the compulsion a harsh, demanding thing that ripped Gwyn’s orgasm straight out of his body. He wailed into the sheet, sobbing as Augus kept moving, overwhelmed and unable to do anything more except _feel,_ his whole body a lightning rod for Augus’ movements.

Augus thrust deep a few seconds later and dropped his forehead to Gwyn’s back, sinking his teeth through skin, hanging on as he came. Gwyn felt that acutely, thought if the compulsion didn’t wear off soon, he was going to black out.

When Augus went to withdraw, Gwyn jerked and made a sharp, distressed sound.

‘Wait,’ he said, finding words, finally. ‘Wait. Don’t.’

Augus paused. Gwyn could sense his shock, could almost feel the way he was rapidly thinking things over, considering his situation. Gwyn breathed a sigh of relief when Augus lowered himself back down again, resting his chest against Gwyn’s back.

‘You are so needy,’ Augus said, a smile thick in his voice. ‘Look at you. I could get used to this.’

_Do,_ Gwyn thought. He yawned again, hummed when Augus started licking at Gwyn’s back. He realised that Augus must have broken through skin, _again._ Augus was a biter, and Gwyn had reason to believe he was a very a restrained one. Even so, Augus broke his skin often, with nails and teeth and tools.

‘What does it taste like?’ Gwyn said, turning his head to the side and blinking sleepily at the material in his line of vision.

‘Copper and iron. Ozone, in the way that you can smell it when you have a near miss with lightning. Burnt carbon perhaps. But, mostly, _blood_.’

Augus resumed lapping up the blood he’d spilled. Gwyn turned over the description in his mind, decided he liked it. He liked a great deal about Augus these days, and any voice that warned him otherwise was more a fatalistic resignation that this could never, _ever_ last. He kept trying to tell himself that it was a problem, that it was a big problem. His body kept reminding him that he was warm, he felt sated, his time with Tigbalan felt very far away, as though it had been dragged deep underwater.

‘Thank you,’ Gwyn said, and Augus paused.

‘You’re welcome. It’s not over though. I meant it earlier. It will take time for you to move through this. This is just...temporary reprieve. Besides, I believe I am the one who should be thanking you.’

‘You’re welcome,’ Gwyn said, yawning again.

‘I didn’t actually _say_ thank you, I just said I _should.’_

‘That’s not what I heard,’ Gwyn said, and then smiled when he felt Augus’ lips curl up against his skin.

‘You’re an idiot,’ Augus said, warm, and Gwyn nodded. He closed his eyes and hummed a little, when Augus took his hand in his. Gwyn half-expected Augus to say something else, but he said nothing, his breathing getting deeper, evening out. His body finally relaxed fully into a doze, and Gwyn thought he’d mind the weight, but it didn’t bother him. Likely they would untangle later, and anyway, they’d never done this before. Not like this. He enjoyed the novelty of it.

Gwyn followed him into sleep minutes later, wondering if he’d ever actually felt like this before and deciding he probably hadn’t. He had never been good at doing the right thing, but maybe this time...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, 'Aftermath:'
> 
> ‘I have held back from you. Not with pain, because I don’t need to. But with this. With gentleness and touch. You are overwhelmed by it so quickly, I thought I was doing the right thing. But I’m _sick_ of it. Now, I have asked you to endure, and you will _endure._ ’


	31. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty, no new tags for this chapter, but this features an emotionally compromised Gwyn and I'd like to request that people take care of themselves during the reading of this chapter, and afterwards.
> 
> 14 chapters left now! about to close out act 3 and head directly into act 4, long story is long! A sincere thank you to everyone interacting with this fic (whether you just read or regularly comment). I've been quite unwell lately, for some time, and all interactings with _Game Theory_ are just really uplifting, and I appreciate them so much.

An unusual form of wariness unfurled roots through his entire body in the days that he recovered. It took over a week for Gwyn to be able to resist compulsions easily again, a week for his body to feel stable.

He feared some of the things that Augus had said to him, not knowing what to trust, certain that after thousands of years of getting personal interaction with others wrong, he couldn’t trust _any_ of it.

He feared he’d revealed too much of his plan to Augus – not that he’d had a choice – and he _still_ hadn’t heard back from Ash. For the first time in a while, he was concerned that a plan of his might not come to fruition. That the plan concerned Augus and was important to him, made him wonder if he was doomed to poorly fate anything that mattered to him personally.

The roots of wariness that had taken hold of his body made him jump when the trows came upon him, even when he knew they were coming. The door of his cupboard swung out towards him, he flinched away from it. There were times when he _knew_ no one else was in the room with him, and he couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched by an invisible predator. Panic clawed its way through his lungs, out of his throat, in a series of hoarse gasps that left his heart thundering like he was in the middle of battle.

Augus noticed.

The first time had been an accident. Gwyn had been in the middle of gathering his breath back to himself when Augus had entered his room, and the additional presence of someone near him, even though he knew it was _Augus,_ had him reeling backwards and sitting clumsily on his bed. Dismay gave way to frustration with himself and he dug his nails into his own palms.

He expected mocking, laughter, but Augus only watched him and then sighed.

‘This is not like me,’ Gwyn said. ‘I’ve experienced torture before, _plenty,_ and this-’

‘Mm,’ Augus said, leaning against the doorframe and looking at his own nails. ‘But I imagine in the past you’ve always had the option of leaving.’

Gwyn looked at the floor.

‘He wouldn’t let me become absent,’ Gwyn said. He swallowed thickly. ‘That thing that I do, you-’

‘I know what you mean,’ Augus said. ‘What do you mean he wouldn’t _let_ you?’

‘I gave my mind away, and he simply waited for me to come back to myself half a day later. He said it would render the trade invalid if I did it again.’

Augus said nothing for a long time, and Gwyn risked looking at him. Augus was staring at him, an unhappy expression on his face, but Gwyn couldn’t pick the nuances of it.

‘You should have _left.’_

‘I couldn’t.’

‘Tell me something,’ Augus said, folding his arms, lips thinning. ‘Tell me _why_ you would make yourself go through that, if a significant part of you entertains the fact that all of this – what _we’ve_ been doing – is a lie? Why would you do that for me?’

Gwyn’s heart started pounding too fast again, and he took a deep breath, masked its shakiness.

‘I’ve been thinking on this,’ Augus said. ‘I’ve been thinking on why you might do something like this to yourself – outside of your standard death-wish – for a lie.’

Augus walked towards him, stepped between the gap in his legs, spreading it with his own. He placed his palms on Gwyn’s cheeks, but when he applied pressure, indicating Gwyn should look at him, Gwyn refused. He kept his gaze staunchly ahead, looking at the fabric of Augus’ shirt.

One of Augus’ hands became fingers tracing his forehead carefully, as though he was breakable. Gwyn grumbled.

‘You’ve had so little of this,’ Augus said. ‘It doesn’t matter if it’s a lie or not, does it? You need it so _badly,_ you would take this in any form.’

Gwyn’s eyes drifted closed. It was something he’d asked himself, it was a humiliating, pathetic fact that he shied away from. He wished he could close his ears to what Augus was saying, instead he decided that if he didn’t participate in the conversation, then he could pretend it wasn’t happening. The points of contact on his face made it difficult. It was in the way Augus carded his fingers through Gwyn’s hair, how carefully he cupped the back of his head and simply held it, as though the brain within might be valuable.

Augus tugged on one of the curls and Gwyn felt it bounce back. He kept his eyes closed. He knew he should push Augus away, go about his business, but Augus would be gone from the Court soon. If all went well, if it could _ever_ go well, Augus would be released from his purview.

Gwyn was starving enough to take what he could get, when he could get it.

'Your attempts to break me were always very clumsy,’ Augus said, and his voice was almost absent, as though he were talking to himself. It was clear he didn’t expect Gwyn to respond. ‘The most sophisticated thing you ever did was use the gag against me, and if you’d truly wanted me broken, you would have kept it on me permanently.’

Gwyn cringed at the idea of it.

‘There, see?’ Augus said, laughing softly. ‘You are a terrible captor. _Terrible._ No wonder you don’t take prisoners of war. You’d have them all up in your palace, drinking high tea and making sandwiches for them I’m sure.’

Gwyn chuckled, he couldn’t help himself.

‘I’ve never made sandwiches for you,’ Gwyn said.

‘You _would,’_ Augus said, and Gwyn could hear the smile in his voice. He responded with a smile of his own, and seconds later Augus was tracing it with his fingertips. Gwyn’s lips were sensitive, he couldn’t maintain the smile, but he kissed the pads of Augus’ fingers, tasted them with the flat of his tongue.

‘I’m so _angry_ at you,’ Augus said on a sigh. ‘At the mess this is, that _you_ are. I loathe your family. And _you,_ by the gods, I thought you _knew._ I thought in your own damaged, stupid way that you at least understood that I was offering you things I hadn’t offered _anyone._ It turns out you think I’m manipulating you with the things that make _me_ vulnerable to be around you?’

Gwyn swallowed.

‘Did I manipulate you when I told you he left me down in the dark? When I asked you if Ash had abandoned me? Was I manipulating you when I told you I had been possessed with the shadows, or told you how I came to Ash’s name? And of course you would think _yes,_ to that. You make me want to rip you apart, that you would slight these things that I’ve given to you. That you would think that I’ve given them to you to manipulate you, or because – and this is laughable – you think you are sophisticated enough at being a captor, that you had somehow manipulated them out of _me.’_

But Augus’ fingers stayed tender, his touch consistently sweet. The fingers of both of his hands were now ruffling and smoothing his hair.

‘I’ve given you everything you need to break me, even as I know how to break you.’

Gwyn looked up at him, and Augus was looking down at him, an unreadable expression on his face.

‘Put a gag on my mouth, shove me down in a pitch darkness somewhere, tell me my brother is in danger, and I break quite easily, it turns out,’ Augus laughed. ‘It’s shameful. I’m not like you. I can’t withstand torture in a battlefield.’

‘His concerted attack on your psyche is not battlefield torture, it is unwise to conflate the two.’

‘I am angry though,’ Augus said, looking up into the distance. ‘Normally I would just backhand you and be done with it. But I have something else in mind.’

‘Punishment?’ Gwyn said, nervously. Punishment, after all he’d just been through? After what he’d just done?

‘No,’ Augus said, pulling Gwyn’s head to his belly and holding it close. Gwyn could hear his heart, then a faint sound of digestion. ‘Not punishment.’

Augus took a very deep breath, blew it out.

‘Are you really thinking of releasing me?’

Gwyn nodded against Augus’ shirt. He wanted to reach up with his arms and hold Augus’ waist, his hips, place his hands over Augus’ hands. But he kept his arms still, uncertain.

‘And in all that mess in that head of yours, have you worked out how to release yourself?’

Gwyn opened his mouth to say that he wasn’t a prisoner and then closed it, sunk forwards into Augus’ body and shook his head. Augus slid his palm down the collar of Gwyn’s shirt and rubbed circles into his back, he dragged claw tips over his scalp, exciting lines of sensation that made Gwyn groan after a couple of minutes, reaching up absently with a hand and bracing himself on Augus’ side.

‘You deserve a second chance,’ Gwyn said softly.

‘I know,’ Augus said.

‘Do you?’ Gwyn said, smiling.

‘I always deserve a second chance,’ Augus said, laughing. ‘My survival instinct is well and truly intact. I will take as many chances as I can get, thank you very much. And you? What about _your_ second chance?’

‘Be quiet.’

‘ _That’s_ doubtful.’

There was a smile in his voice, but Augus didn’t say anything else. He ruffled Gwyn’s hair one more time, stroked it back into place and then stepped back, his gaze scrutinising. After a while he simply turned around and left, and Gwyn lay back on his bed, looking up at the ceiling. He could feel Augus’ fingers in his hair. His palm on his cheeks. It evoked a warm feeling in him that was quite unlike anything else he’d ever felt in his life. He wished he could have more of it before he let Augus go.

*

Gwyn’s absence had been noted by the Court, and it was Albion who had confronted him over it, taking him aside like some recalcitrant child.

‘Now is not the time for quests, Gwyn. Your Court is...it doesn’t seem to matter what I say to them. Favour is falling against you. I would not see your Kingship come to this.’

Gwyn had talked with him for some time, trying to find ways that he could comply with Albion’s requests without really complying with them, when he found it all too draining and said:

‘Albion, have you ever considered that I have fulfilled the tasks required of me and that I am simply not suited for Kingship? Your loyalty is a blessing, truly, but let us both be honest, I am a war general and nothing more.’

‘Of course I know this,’ Albion said, shaking his head. ‘But a century and a half is all you have left of this Kingship and it would be vastly preferable if you could step down on your own terms. Being voted out is...shameful.’

‘Apparently my entire conduct in this Court is shameful, if you are to be believed.’

‘Now don’t chide,’ Albion said, grimacing. ‘Is that what you think? I know this suits you ill. But a century and a half is nothing. You are young, but you must still know that it is nothing.’

It wasn’t nothing. Every day, week, month, year that passed in the Seelie Court was another year on a sentence that he couldn’t wait to shake. And without villains to focus on, all he felt was the cage of it. Albion must have seen something of it on his face, because he reached out to place a hand on Gwyn’s shoulder.

Gwyn flinched.

It was a full body response and Gwyn frowned, even as Albion’s eyes widened in surprise.

‘I meant you no harm,’ Albion said, eyes narrowing as he scrutinised Gwyn.

‘I know that,’ Gwyn said, exasperated. ‘It has nothing to do with you. It is an unfortunate reflex I seem to have picked up, over the past two weeks. It shall pass.’

_‘You?’_ Albion said, eyebrows pulling together. ‘That is...not like you.’

‘At any rate,’ Gwyn said, desperate to change the subject, ‘you are of course correct, a century and a half is nothing at all, but I am not sure I can sway this Court in that time, and perhaps they may be better with another King or Queen. I know you’ve thought it too, Albion. Everyone has at some point. I don’t think any fae particularly thinks I belong here in this position. We all knew it was only temporary.’

‘Did we?’ Albion said. ‘Some of us had hoped you would grow into the role. Still hope for it. Perhaps if you spent less time gallivanting about the countryside and more time connected with those of high status, you would see that there is still time to grow into the role.’

Gwyn turned the conversation to other matters. It occurred to him that he had the power of invisibility lurking somewhere inside of him, a gift for Augus. For the first time since acquiring it, he wished he could take it for himself and flicker away.

*

That evening he couldn’t sleep or even find a doze.

He was used to wiling away evenings. Many of the fae Court left to attend their own families, estates, homes, and he didn’t have to entertain in the greater Court itself. He read, ate, checked on weapons, cleaned his armour, wandered halls. He often used the time for exploring, but hadn’t left as often of late, not wanting to miss when Ash might arrive. If he arrived.

His wanderings took him past Augus’ lake.

He backtracked several steps when he saw it in the corner of his eye.

The whole room had been terraformed. It was lush, verdant. Lilies flowered in the water, and other flowers that he didn’t recognise blossomed nearby. Vines hung from the ceiling, the room was steamier and more humid than ever. The lake itself was half hidden by a screen of sedges, rushes and even a small tree with glossy, thick, dark green leaves. It was wilderness, smelling of loam, humus, chlorophyll. Tiny birds flittered through the undergrowth. A frog, jewelled with wet, brown skin and adorned with glowing brown eyes, croaked musically at him.

He stared at it all. He couldn’t help remember the time he defeated Augus, dropping him from King status to underfae. He hadn’t been paying attention to what was happening around him at the time, only felt the thick, overwhelming swirl of power as it flooded out of Augus’ body. But when he’d stepped away, the underground cavern had been turned into a burgeoning landscape.

But this was...

Gwyn had made the lake functional, though he’d tried to make it aesthetic too. But this was an ecosystem. The lake was _alive._ Augus had given it a presence of its own and the energy of it was calming.

Gwyn stared at it for a few minutes longer and then walked straight to Augus’ rooms.

But when he got there and knocked on the closed door, he realised it was perhaps a little foolish to see the lake and then visit Augus on a whim. He didn’t have any reason to be at his rooms, and didn’t even know if he’d be there. Augus wandered a lot too, since they both had problems-

Augus opened the door.

‘Can I help you?’ Augus said, a faint half-smile on his face. He studied Gwyn closely and then smirked. ‘You look a little lost.’

‘How is my light Unseelie, when you can do that with your lake, and it not be Seelie?’

‘My lake,’ Augus said. ‘That’s not _my_ lake.’

‘It might as well be, it’s unrecognisable.’

Augus opened the door wider and waved Gwyn inside. His room was immaculate. There was no sign of what Augus had been doing. The bed was unwrinkled, the chair was pushed into the desk, the door to his adjoining room closed. There was a new quilt cover on the bed, this one cream with a white burst of embroidery across it.

‘I eat humans,’ Augus said, and Gwyn stared at him in confusion. ‘I eat humans and all of my abilities are designed to make that easier. Compulsions. The waterweed I can project from my wrists. The ability to turn any landscape into a lake when I am more powerful. The poison I produce that is toxic to the flesh of humans and makes them easier to hunt should they escape my bite. As for the lakes, I don’t realise I’m doing it, though I can consciously...direct it; that’s exhausting. I don’t like exhausting. But I always thought it was perhaps to make the lakes more inviting to human eyes, perhaps. A healthy lake is far more agreeable a place to seek fresh water, than an unhealthy lake.’

‘You thought? You mean you don’t know?’

‘I didn’t get a manual on what it is to be the Each Uisge,’ Augus said drily. ‘The only part that is particularly self-evident is that I eat humans and I loathe liver and dry out without exposure to water.’

‘Ah,’ Gwyn said, brows furrowing. ‘I thought you just...knew.’

Augus nodded, shrugged. He tilted his head to the side and Gwyn knew automatically that Augus had already changed the subject in his head, that he was thinking of something else.

He shifted nervously.

‘You said you knew what it was to be fucked gently. Do you remember? You said that it had happened _once._ Was that ‘once’ by any chance Mafydd? I cannot think of when else it may have been, in your dearth of personal relationships.’

Gwyn’s head snapped back to Augus’, he stared. An uncomfortable prickling sensation under his skin made him want to itch at his own arms. Augus brought up Mafydd’s name so easily, but it was cymbals clashing by his own ears to hear his name unexpectedly. He had to think back over what Augus said to untangle the sentences. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to the way Augus just brought it up like that.

‘I...yes,’ Gwyn said.

‘But you never fucked in a bed.’

‘Why, exactly, are we talking about this?’

‘Humour me,’ Augus said, stepping towards him and placing his palms flat on Gwyn’s chest. It was becoming a familiar warmth, a heaviness he breathed into, instead of away from. Augus was looking up at him, but his eye contact was always so direct and often unblinking, that Gwyn looked away. He could manage a direct stare better than most, but here, in Augus’ room, he wasn’t the creature that made war and slaughtered, and it was harder to face that gaze.

‘No, we never...not in a bed,’ Gwyn said. ‘It doesn’t need to be in a bed to be gentle.’

‘I’m just trying to understand what you mean by _gentle,’_ Augus said, stroking his hands down Gwyn’s chest with care, before coming back up and repeating the motion. He did that several more times, then reached up and unbuttoned the first button on Gwyn’s shirt. Then the second. Gwyn had forgotten he was wearing a more formal shirt; Albion had told him to wear it.

Augus exposed more of Gwyn’s chest and pressed his palms to bare skin, rubbing at his collarbones, then reaching up and pushing his fingers lightly into the muscles there, massaging them lightly.

Gwyn swallowed, Augus must have felt it against the palm of his hand.

Fingers touched his lips, and Gwyn’s eyes flickered to Augus’ at that, mouth parting. Augus’ face was intent, he watched Gwyn’s eyes, not the place where he dragged the pads of his fingers over the flesh of Gwyn’s lips. Gwyn shivered. He was sensitive and Augus was thorough. He pressed fingertips into the corners of his mouth, stroked a finger down his philtrum, and then did it several more times, following the dip between the centre of his nose to the top of his lip. Gwyn licked his lips absently, and Augus smiled impishly at him and then tried to capture his tongue between thumb and forefinger.

‘What are you doing?’ Gwyn said.

‘What I want to do,’ Augus said.

Augus’ fingers trailed up and hovered over Gwyn’s eyes, before encouraging his eyelids to close with patience. Gwyn did so, then sneezed when Augus rubbed his eyelashes.

‘ _Every_ time,’ Augus said, amused.

‘Do be quiet,’ Gwyn said, flushing.

‘I’m going to try something,’ Augus said softly. ‘You might not like it.’

‘Will it hurt?’ Gwyn said, apprehensively. Augus was stroking his fingers over the fragile skin of Gwyn’s eyelids, and it tickled, but not enough that Gwyn felt like he needed to move away. Augus fingers moved to his forehead then, smoothed at the lines that had appeared there. Gwyn couldn’t relax, so Augus kept tracing them.

‘No, sweetness. It will not, at any point, cause you physical pain.’

‘I...’

Gwyn’s brow furrowed further, and then he inhaled, startled, when lips pressed against his. Gwyn opened his mouth, obedient, but Augus kept the kiss closed-mouthed, chaste. He realised Augus was copying his own style of kissing. Gwyn closed his mouth again, leaned forwards unconsciously. Augus rewarded the motion by licking at his lips, kissing the corner of his mouth.

When he withdrew, it was only enough to lower his hands to Gwyn’s shirt and unbutton the rest of it. Gwyn stood, awkward. Augus always asked him to do this part, and it was strange having someone else do it for him. He’d never had a manservant in the estate like Crielle and Lludd, he’d always dressed and undressed himself. To have Augus do this to him was odd, and he didn’t quite know how to stand or what to do with his arms.

Augus was generous with his touches, for every two buttons he undid, he slid his hands into Gwyn’s shirt, smoothing palms around the newly exposed skin. He rubbed circles into his side with thumbs, scratched carefully at his back. None of it hurt.

When the shirt was unbuttoned he reached up and slid it off his arms, before turning and placing it on the desk. He crouched by Gwyn’s feet and started unlacing his boots and Gwyn stared down at the top of his head, breath coming faster.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Taking your clothes off,’ Augus said. ‘I know you can be a dolt, but honestly, Gwyn.’

But there was something in Augus’ voice that indicated he knew very well that he was doing something unusual. Gwyn decided not to push, what was happening was different, and he was intrigued. Almost everything new that Augus had shown him so far, were things that he ended up daydreaming about, they helped him get through his time in the Court itself, turned his life into something far more bearable.

Both his boots were unlaced, and Augus knocked at his ankles with his knuckles until Gwyn stepped out of them. Augus pushed them aside and knelt up, eyebrows raising at the belt, buttons and formal fixtures of his pants.

‘Whose influence is this?’ Augus said, looking up at him.

Gwyn was staring down at him hungrily. Augus’ mouth was tantalisingly close to his cock, even with a barrier of fabric in the way. He didn’t think Augus would _ever_ offer that to him again, since it was something Gwyn had only ever taken by force, not something Augus had ever willingly offered. And though guilt plagued him for what he’d taken from Augus, he still couldn’t bring himself to remember Augus’ mouth wrapped around him, the vindictive, helpless spark in his eyes, with anything other than lust.

Augus’ lips curled in a slow, knowing smile.

‘Not today, I’m afraid,’ Augus said, and Gwyn nodded, swallowed.

‘Ever?’

But there would be no ‘ever.’ Weeks at most, and Augus would be free. He would never come back. He had no reason to, no matter what he said.

‘Perhaps,’ Augus shrugged with one shoulder as he masterfully undid everything and drew Gwyn’s pants down, skimming his knuckles over his thighs as he went. Gwyn stepped out of those too, and Augus stayed kneeling on the ground as he took off his own shirt, undid his own pants, left everything in a pile of fabric on the floor.

‘Did he hurt you?’ Augus said, looking up at Gwyn from where he knelt. One of his hands rested casually on the bridge of Gwyn’s foot. The other was smoothing across the top of his thigh, over and over again.

‘It was eager,’ Gwyn said, realising what he was referring to. ‘But you know me, Augus. I...don’t mind a little pain.’

‘‘A little pain,’’ he says,’ Augus laughed.

Gwyn pursed his lips together, and then laughed seconds later, looking away.

‘So he hurt you, but you liked it,’ Augus said. ‘But that’s not _gentle.’_

‘I’m not explaining it well,’ Gwyn said, frustrated.

‘You’re explaining it very well, actually,’ Augus said, standing. He pressed his lips to Gwyn’s again, drawing his lower lip between his own and sucking. He licked his way into Gwyn’s mouth, stroking the roof of his mouth with a sensuality that had Gwyn’s eyes drifting shut, his fingers twitching by his sides. Gwyn’s tongue moved up hesitantly, and Augus moaned, wrapped his tongue around Gwyn’s, slid them together until Gwyn felt himself begin to get hard, the heat they created in their mouths drifting slowly down until his lungs felt full with it, until his cock swelled from it.

‘I’m not trying to make you think ill of that time,’ Augus said, lifting Gwyn’s head up with his fingers and pressing his lips to Gwyn’s neck. Gwyn kept expecting the bite of teeth, _sharpness,_ but it didn’t come. Gwyn’s breathing was unsteady. ‘I’m only trying to gauge what you _know._ We don’t need to talk about that anymore. Come lie down on the bed.’

Augus slipped his hands into Gwyn’s again, pulled him towards the bed, sitting down on it and encouraging Gwyn to sit down next to him. From there, Augus pushed him with care towards the headboard, and Gwyn found himself lying on his back instead of on his front, head resting on pillows, looking at Augus curiously.

‘What are we doing?’ Gwyn said.

‘Something new,’ Augus said. His voice was light, but there was a sudden tightness to his expression, and Gwyn leaned up, concerned.

‘Augus, are you okay?’

‘No,’ Augus said, his voice shaking. ‘Not for _years,_ but the entire fae kingdom knows that. And no, for other reasons also. Why don’t you grow body hair? Is it the light that burns beneath your skin?’

Gwyn blinked at the change in topic, watched as Augus smoothed his palms over his flanks, over the tops of his knees. Gwyn tried to fathom Augus’ expression, but Augus was focusing on what he was doing. So Gwyn focused on that too.

‘I think so,’ Gwyn said. ‘I’ve never...it never happened.’

‘Is that why your eyelashes and eyebrows are so pale? Everything about you is drained of colour, somehow. Except here.’

Augus touched his fingers to Gwyn’s cock and it twitched at the contact. Augus looked up and smiled lazily.

‘And your cheeks,’ he added.

Gwyn felt the faintest hint of embarrassment, shifted on the bed. This was very different to anything they’d ever done. By now, Augus was usually issuing orders. Gwyn liked the structure of that. It let him know what he could and couldn’t do. By now, there would be pain, or the threat of pain. Gwyn shifted again and Augus watched him the entire time, like he was waiting for something.

‘You’re not going to cause me pain,’ Gwyn said, confused. ‘Is there anything...I should be doing? Is there anything you want me to do?’

Augus stroked Gwyn’s abdomen, all the way up to his collarbones. He reared up, pressed his forehead to Gwyn’s, exhaled and inhaled slowly. He seemed to be drawing strength from somewhere inside of himself, and it baffled Gwyn, because he had no idea why Augus might be finding this difficult. Everything was so...mild.

‘Endure,’ Augus said. ‘I want you to endure.’

‘But-’ _I don’t understand._

‘Two weeks, you were gone,’ Augus said, his voice hard. It was a voice often matched with claws and teeth, but Augus’ hands on him were tender. ‘Two weeks and you asked me to extend you a measure of trust, only for me to find out – when you returned – that it was the _last_ thing I should have done. You. Are. Not. Trustworthy.’

Augus slid his knees apart and over Gwyn’s waist. Straddled him. Gwyn felt each one of Augus’ words like a blow, and he was shaking his head as much as he could without breaking the contact between Augus’ forehead and his own.

‘I did the right thing,’ Gwyn said. ‘If you would only take the damnable power.’

‘Not yet. I don’t _want_ the thing that you nearly got yourself killed for, just yet.’

Augus shook his head, pressed his lips to Gwyn’s again, sliding his tongue inside, pressing his chest close so that their skin touched. The cool contrast of Augus’ skin against his own welcome. He wished he could pull Augus closer, but his hands remained cautious at his side. He did, however, open his mouth further for the kiss, and then Augus was slanting his head, bettering the angle, and Gwyn moaned as it became sparks of heat in the back of his throat, a heavy weight dragging down his eyelids.

He was breathing unevenly when Augus leaned over, pulled out lubricant, placed it on the quilt beside them. Gwyn expected him to start slicking his fingers, start slicking _something,_ but instead Augus went back to kissing him. Pressing closed-mouth kisses to his lips, one after the other, and then dragging his lips down his jaw to the underside of his neck. He pressed his tongue to his pulse, then slid down, painting a wet stripe that was ticklish and hot all the way to his collarbone.

The tongue became lips measuring out kisses against his skin, slow and thorough. Each one was curious, exploratory. Each time Augus placed his mouth against a new place on Gwyn’s body, his lips would open, his tongue would press flat against his skin and lap at it, would point and prod, would suck or scrape teeth for texture rather than roughness. He sometimes blew against the wet marks he left behind, sometimes he trailed his fingers through them.

And when he did that to the wet place he left behind on Gwyn’s nipple, Gwyn shuddered at the liquid warmth of it all. His legs spread, one of his arms raised and he found himself pressing the flat of his hand to Augus’ side, taking a deeper breath.

He didn’t know quite what to think about what was happening. Everything Augus did was so measured, so careful, and Gwyn wasn’t...he wouldn’t...

‘I’m not _breakable,’_ Gwyn said, finally.

‘I am merely being gentle,’ Augus said, looking up. ‘Is it torture?’

‘I...no,’ Gwyn said, brow furrowing.

‘Are you in pain?’

Gwyn shook his head.

Augus lifted off from where he straddled Gwyn’s body, picked up the lubricant in his hands, looking meaningfully at Gwyn’s cock where it bobbed between his legs.

‘Still enjoying it?’

‘You know that I am,’ Gwyn said, but he didn’t feel entirely sure. Something of that must have come through in his voice, because Augus stared at him for several seconds, calculating. But then he knelt between Gwyn’s legs, pouring lubricant onto his fingers and eyes flickering up to Gwyn’s once more.

Gwyn expected Augus to breach him straight away, then jerked when slick fingers dragged up between the crease of his inner thigh. The fingertips moved up over his pelvis, traced curves of muscle and still further, leaving a cool, slick line that spiralled up over his heart, finished over the beat of it. It was _intimate,_ and Gwyn swallowed, turned his head to the side.

‘You are beautiful,’ Augus said quietly, and Gwyn tensed. Augus was stroking him with his other hand, measuring out the shape of his torso, petting his waist, cupping his hip. ‘You must look like a war god out on the battlefield, gleaming in your armour, going helmless so that the sun might catch your hair, your eyes. And how Crielle must have attacked you for it, the way you _looked._ ’

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask Augus to stop lying to him, to _please_ stop, only that Augus sounded sincere and Gwyn wasn’t used to hearing anything quite like it.

‘I appreciate other things about you,’ Augus said softly. ‘How honest your heart and your pulse is, and how they _race_ when I tug on the strings of you.’

‘I’m not a puppet,’ Gwyn said hoarsely, as Augus reached up and stroked at his throat, traced the line of his lips and lingered.

‘That you have all this musculature at your disposal, but there are surprisingly soft places. Here, for example.’

Augus stroked the skin just above Gwyn’s armpit, following the curve of it down, sending gooseflesh across him and making him shiver. Gwyn watched Augus now, uncertain, feeling a tremble start somewhere in the core of him. Something didn’t feel quite right, and he couldn’t tell what it was. Augus had told him to endure, but he wasn’t sure exactly how to endure this, or even why he felt like he might need to.

‘Your lips,’ Augus said, ‘and the way you kiss me with them.’

Augus placed his lips an inch away from Gwyn’s.

‘So kiss me with them.’

Gwyn blinked up at him, licked his lips. He lifted slightly, and the hand on Augus’ side came up and touched his damp hair, drew him down. He pressed his closed lips against Augus’, keeping them closed, wishing that there were ways he could preserve a moment precisely and replay it over and over.

He rubbed his lips against Augus’, and closed his eyes when Augus smiled against his mouth. Augus relaxed further, until their chests were touching, and Augus was resting his weight against Gwyn’s, sinking into the kiss with a boneless ease that made Gwyn want to roll him over, pin him to the bed.

But he waited, unsure.

After a few minutes, Augus lifted up and looked at him, a faint smile on his face.

He reached up and plunged his fingers into Gwyn’s hair, dragging fingertips firmly down his scalp in a single, languorous motion that sent a shudder all the way down Gwyn’s spine. He arched up into the motion, and Augus pressed small kisses into the side of his face.

‘I love that you enjoy this practically as much as any waterhorse. And I love your hair. Waterhorses are enamoured with dry hair anyway, simply because it is _dry._ But yours has the novelty of being especially soft, with a colour to it like dawn sun. But in particular, I enjoy how you react to it. Because you _always_ do. I have never seen you pretend indifference to this, or at least, never very well. And I like the feel of it in my fingers, and how quickly your hair looks mussed. I do like it when you appear debauched, Gwyn. I believe I like that very much.’

Augus messed his hair on purpose then, laughing when Gwyn looked up as though he could see it himself. Augus then withdrew his fingers and slid his hand down between them, picking up lubricant still clinging to Gwyn’s torso as he went.

Augus’ hand wrapped around his cock, and a sound choked off in the back of Gwyn’s throat.

‘Here, you are quite well-formed. I’ve said it before, and it’s true. Perhaps not all of those soldiers you’ve split with this are quite so grateful for it, but I am. It has, at the very least, provided many distractions within this Court. And it is also _sensitive._ Which is amazing, given all the ways you’ve used it roughly. But look. I need hardly touch you, and _there._ ’

Gwyn was moaning softly as Augus traced the vein on the underside of his cock with fingers that were far too clever. Alongside the pleasure of it was a sense of trepidation, of foreboding.

Perhaps it was a trick.

Perhaps it was a new kind of scene, one where Augus would be kind and gentle, then turn it around. After all, Augus was angry at him, and though he’d said he wouldn’t punish him, maybe Augus wouldn’t think it was punishment if he was kind first.

‘Are you going to hurt me?’ Gwyn said, hating how his voice sounded.

Augus’ eyes snapped to his, he took several deep breaths.

‘Have I hurt you at all today?’

‘Will you though?’

‘Have I said I would? Do you not believe me? Out of the two of us, I am far more likely to follow through on my word. Do you need a blood oath?’

Gwyn’s mouth was dry, the tremor in the core of him spread.

‘Is it a feint? Are you...you said you were angry.’

‘I will _not_ hurt you,’ Augus said, firmly. ‘I _am_ angry. It angers me that you don’t understand what I’m doing. It angers me that you went and wasted yourself on something that is possibly not even needed, and upon thinking you may have intended it because you thought this was a mutually beneficial relationship, I find out that you believe it is entirely one-sided and a _lie._ It angers me that I cannot compliment you without your heart racing or scenting your fear, that I cannot lay these touches upon you and have you trust them.’

Augus’ jaw tightened.

‘I have held back from you. Not with pain, because I don’t need to. But with this. With gentleness and touch. You are overwhelmed by it so quickly, I thought I was doing the right thing. But I’m _sick_ of it. Now, I have asked you to endure, and you will _endure.’_

After that, Augus bowed back down to his flesh again, not taking him in hand or breaching him, but stroking his body, kissing him, licking and breathing over his skin until Gwyn had the vaguest sense of being worshipped, of being treated with reverence. It made him uncomfortable, because this wasn’t _right._ People weren’t supposed to treat him like this. Gwyn had to close his eyes to block out the sight of it, and his head thumped back to the bed.

His heart was unsteady, but Augus wouldn’t stop, and Gwyn felt sensation creeping over him, dragging him down to a shadowed place with its fingers. He shifted on the bed, made a strangled sound when Augus pressed his lips to his inner thigh. It was too much.

He rose up on his elbows and Augus looked up at him.

‘Are you enjoying this?’ Augus said, and Gwyn nodded, because of course he was. He was hard, he was leaking, he just felt...odd.

‘Are you sure?’ Augus said. ‘You don’t look sure.’

Augus’ fingers cupped his balls and he dragged fingers over them. Gwyn’s head tilted back, he gasped. Augus kept doing it until Gwyn found himself arching up into the touch, a helpless groan bursting from his throat.

Augus slid his other hand beneath Gwyn’s ass and lifted, massaged and gripped at the handful of flesh he’d found, and Gwyn was shaking and pleased and concerned and full of sparks, a pinwheel mess of feeling. Gwyn’s fingers dropped to the quilt and fisted into it, and he turned his head to the side, stared blindly at the wall, at the furniture. His mouth opened on the word ‘oh,’ but it never moved past his mouth except on exhales, barely spoken. There was nothing in his scope of experience that compared to this, and his mind – always hungry to learn new things – was greedily holding onto everything.

‘Pass me a pillow please,’ Augus said.

It took Gwyn a little while to process what Augus had said, and then he reached out to the side and dragged a pillow down, uncoordinated. Augus took it, dragged fingers over Gwyn’s and then encouraged Gwyn to lift his hips, sliding it beneath like he had when Augus had compelled him to touch himself. Gwyn’s brow furrowed dimly.

‘Do you want me to turn over?’ he said.

‘Ah, this too?’ Augus said. ‘Never done this face to face? Look at all the new experiences you’re having.’

‘I’m sure I have,’ Gwyn said dimly.

‘Yes, you sound very sure,’ Augus said, something amused in his voice. And Gwyn was distracted again by a hand, fingers, Augus’ mouth, so that when Augus stroked slicked fingers between his legs, questing, Gwyn was a combination of shocked and ready, his legs spreading, his heart uncertain.

Augus moved up over him, braced himself on an arm, pressed his cheek to Gwyn’s chest. And Gwyn’s breath caught in his throat when fingers brushed across his entrance, pushing lightly, but not pushing in. Gwyn’s mouth opened on shuddered exhales, and Augus hushed him, turning his face and laying soft, simple kisses against his skin. One after the other.

‘Just do it already, Augus,’ Gwyn said, impatience and strain marking his voice.

‘You’re not relaxed enough yet.’

‘Am I not?’

‘No, sweetness, you’re not. Breathe for me. Copy my breathing.’

Gwyn tried. He did try. But Augus’ breathing was slow and steady, and Gwyn’s was all over the place, a spool of panic unwinding inside of him. The more he tried to relax, the more he felt everything that Augus was doing, the more he felt present in the room, on the bed, the quilt beneath him and embroidery under his ankles and the pillow lifting his hips and keeping him exposed. Everything was acute and exact and he felt like something was wrong. A small, distressed sound left his lips.

‘Easy,’ Augus said. ‘You can do this. I’m not hurting you, now copy my breathing. Concentrate, Gwyn. Concentrate for me.’

Gwyn’s eyes squeezed shut, he tried harder. Small whimpers left him at the top of every slow, shaky exhale, but eventually his breathing did slow, and Augus lifted his head, reached forwards and slipped his tongue between Gwyn’s lips, capturing a moan. He thrust his tongue gently back and forth, and then when Gwyn started to slump back into the bed, Augus slid his middle finger inside of him easily, breaching him with a thoroughness that stole the breath out of Gwyn’s lungs. He cried out and Augus swallowed he sound right out of his mouth, turning it to nothing more than muffled noise, hitched breaths.

Augus didn’t move his lips away from Gwyn’s for more than a couple of seconds at a time as he fingered him slowly, and Gwyn felt pinned even though it wasn’t Augus’ cock, he felt open and split apart, like he was exposing something of himself he wasn’t ever supposed to expose. Augus would see something, and something terrible was going to happen. Dread overtook him, and he tore his mouth away, gasping in panic, Augus keeping his mouth by his lips, breathing carefully.

‘I’m not hurting you,’ Augus said again. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘I don’t...I don’t _know.’_

Augus sighed, his finger stopped thrusting back and forth, though it curled slowly inside of Gwyn with a carefulness that made Gwyn shake his head at it, denial thick in his throat.

‘I can’t,’ Gwyn said, face twisting.

‘Unless you tell me what’s wrong, I will not stop. Endure, sweetness. Copy my breathing again. There, good, that’s good, Gwyn. You’re doing so, so well.’

Gwyn moaned a long sound of despair, quiet in the room. And Augus must have known what it was, didn’t misinterpret it, because he sighed again and kissed the corner of his mouth, soothing and gentle. Gwyn focused on mastering his breathing, and Augus murmured gentle encouragement, full of praise that plucked at tendons and ligaments inside of him, made him feel like he’d been strung up. He couldn’t ever remember feeling so bare before Augus, and he didn’t like it. He didn’t. Except he was so hard and Augus’ finger felt perfect inside of him. He was confused, his eyes were beginning to burn.

‘I can’t,’ Gwyn whispered, but Augus ignored him, and Gwyn focused on his breathing again.

When it evened out enough that he shifted his hips into Augus’ hand, Augus carefully pressed his second finger in, moving slowly. There was a stretch but no burn, a throb of pleasure that wasn’t an ache. It didn’t _hurt._ Gwyn had no idea it could be like this.

‘Oh, gods,’ Gwyn cried out. ‘What are you doing to me?’

‘What do you think I’m doing?’

But Gwyn didn’t know, he didn’t have words for it, and Augus hushed him again, kept his fingers moving until Gwyn writhed, wanting it to be over, not understanding why this was so difficult. Only that it was, and he could hardly breathe around it.

He’d never daydreamed about this, never made room for it in his fantasies. It wasn’t something he had an understanding of, and it terrified him. He’d thought Mafydd had been _gentle._ He’d thought...

How could he have been wrong?

He couldn’t do this. He jerked away, and Augus’ fingers slid out of him as Gwyn started to move to the side of the bed. But Augus wouldn’t get off him _,_ and Gwyn’s hands came up, shoving, expecting Augus to shove back. And when Augus did nothing, Gwyn froze himself, staring, uncertain. Augus looked unhappy. His fingers were covered in lubricant, Gwyn knew they’d be warm, they’d just been inside of him. He felt empty somehow. He wanted to get away, he wanted to escape, he wanted to press the entire length of his body along Augus’ and feel his skin against his.

‘Lie down,’ Augus said. ‘You can do this.’

‘Why won’t you just _hurt_ me?’ Gwyn said. ‘I _like_ pain, I _enjoy_ it. Is this a new brand of sadism from you? Because if it is, I-’

‘All I am doing,’ Augus said slowly, ‘is _not_ hurting you. I would also like to say that you don’t know exactly what you like, because your spectrum of sex is warped. I’m not taking too long. I’m not dragging this out. I’m not tormenting you. I’m not injuring you. I’ve asked you to endure this, and you are running away from painless, affectionate sex. What does that say about you?’

Gwyn swallowed spasmodically and threw himself back down to the bed, breath shuddering in his lungs. When Augus framed it like that, he felt like a coward. He didn’t want to be that, didn’t want to run away, but he was frightened of what it would feel like when Augus pressed inside of him. He didn’t want Augus to see his face, didn’t want Augus to see him like this.

‘Can I not just turn over?’ Gwyn said.

‘Once, you told me you needed eye contact,’ Augus said, moving over him again. ‘Such an odd request, given you’ve never insisted on it since. Do you know what you were asking for that day? Aside from not wanting to be sounded again, you were asking for more _contact._ For connection and intimacy.’

Augus’ fingers pressed carefully at his entrance once more, and when there was almost no resistance, he slid both in, his own breath catching as Gwyn whined.

‘If you can withstand two weeks of torture at that crude beast’s hands, then you can withstand an hour of this, my dear heart. And if you can’t, I don’t actually _care._ You will withstand this, you will know – at least once in your life – what it is like for someone to cherish you.’

The word was a flare of sharp pain in his chest and Gwyn’s hand struck out, he dug furrows into Augus’ back, split skin, drew blood. Augus cried out through clenched teeth, pained, but didn’t retaliate, only kept sliding his fingers back and forth even as Gwyn scored his skin again. His fingers were wet now, blood oozing from Augus’ back.

‘You can’t make me hurt you,’ Augus said. ‘And I’m not a masochist in the way that you are, so if you’re quite done, I’d like you to stop doing that.’

Gwyn dropped his hand back to the bed in frustration, and the trapped, fractious sound he made was a plea for mercy. Help. _Anything._

Augus stilled, he lifted his head and looked at Gwyn, mouth slanting in a frown. He closed his eyes for several seconds and then his face twisted, his jaw clenched.

‘I _will_ see this through,’ he muttered.

Augus pressed his lips to Gwyn’s again, breathed in his breath, sucked his tongue between his lips and made a home for it in his mouth until Gwyn realised that he was tasting Augus, the sweet watery liquor of him, running his own tongue along the roof of his mouth, feeling teeth that were blunt, but could sharpen if he were particularly furious or needed to defend himself. Augus’ tongue was cleverer than his, twining and sinuous. It was a spell Augus cast on him and he lost track of time, only to moan sharply when Augus pressed a third finger inside of him.

Augus was even gentler now, easing back at some signal that Gwyn gave, though he had no idea what it was. And instead Augus stretched him repeatedly with two fingers, thoroughly, without pain. He moved the third into him easily after that, groaning in satisfaction at the deep, thick moan that Gwyn gave in response. Three fingers and Gwyn felt open and ready. His hips felt stretched, his cock was leaking precome onto his belly, and it started off searing hot, and cooled in the air around them.

‘Please,’ Gwyn said, having no idea exactly what he was asking for. He wanted Augus inside him, he wanted it to stop, he wanted Augus to not be able to see his face. He threw his forearm over his eyes and it helped, but not much.

‘A little longer,’ Augus said, stretching his fingers carefully. ‘Are you in any pain?’

Gwyn shook his head. Augus practically purred in response.

‘Perfect. That’s wonderful. You are doing _so_ well.’

All words he wasn’t used to associating with himself, and he thought his mind might short out hearing it all. He sobbed in frustration, tears were leaking back behind his ears, into his hair. There was a mindlessness he had come to appreciate about sex, a blankness where he never had to be entirely _there._ But like this, with Augus over him, he didn’t know how to be anywhere else. And Augus over him like this was incredible, every time Gwyn shifted his forearm to look at him. The expressions he made, the concentration, the way he shifted with confidence from one movement to the next, even the way his wrist curled up and inwards when he fingered him and Gwyn could feel that against his skin.

Augus withdrew his fingers and ran his fingers over Gwyn’s cock as he shifted his hips until he was pushing at Gwyn’s entrance. And Gwyn arched up, unthinking and wanting Augus inside of him. He hadn’t realised how open he was until Augus slipped in without having to push his way forward. Augus moaned, and Gwyn’s breath stuttered in his lungs. It took him several seconds to remember how to breathe again.

‘Easy there, Gwyn,’ Augus said. ‘It’s going to be over soon.’

He was reassuring him like they were in the middle of a far heavier scene, and Gwyn felt embarrassed by his own anguish even as Augus stole those nuances of feeling from him as he pushed deeper, sliding in on the slickness of him. But Augus didn’t press all the way in straight away, withdrew before a familiar ache could bloom inside of him, kept his thrusts measured, one hand on Gwyn’s hips to stop him rolling too sharply forwards.

One of Gwyn’s hands found its way back to Augus’ back, pressing into the stickiness of blood. His fingers dug in again, but he couldn’t help himself, and Augus arched his back into Gwyn’s hand, welcoming.

He moved hypnotically, setting up a steady, even rhythm that wasn’t too slow. He pushed a little deeper every time until he was fully seated and Gwyn felt as though Augus had made a home inside of him and wouldn’t ever be leaving. He didn’t know how else to explain it and it overwhelmed him, made noises spill out of his mouth into Augus’, made him shift uncertainly.

Augus didn’t hold down Gwyn’s hip anymore, instead running his hand soothingly over Gwyn’s thigh several times, before hooking his fingers in under his knee and stretching his leg back, and over Augus’ shoulder. And there, Augus pressed deeper until Gwyn gasped, hoarsely. Augus whispered things against his mouth, but Gwyn couldn’t hear him, not until Augus said:

‘All that training pays off, hm? I wondered how flexible you were.’

And Gwyn huffed out a faint breath of laughter, as much despair as it was anything else.

‘Hold onto me,’ Augus said. ‘Bring your other arm up.’

Gwyn did, grateful to have an order to respond to. It made everything, for a few seconds, clearer. He had one hand pressed over Augus’ shoulder, the other at his hips, which were trembling. And then when Gwyn’s hands were in position, something unlocked in Augus’ muscles and he undulated backwards and then forwards again, sliding in and out, the angle and the pillow combining to sing a pleasure through Gwyn that was sharp and full and made his nerves feel flooded somehow, that he was overflowing. More than that, and all the more frightening because of it, he couldn’t abandon his awareness of Augus, of the care he was showing.

It was good; he knew it was good. He _knew_ that, because he knew he was close to coming. But the dread was swirling back alongside the rising pleasure, and his mind was tearing itself apart with fear and horror and some unnameable, unspeakable thing that was turning his breath to dust, that made him panic against Augus’ movements until Augus slowed further and hushed him, kept hushing him, and Gwyn realised that broken, half-spoken words were falling from his throat and he didn’t know what any of them were, only that they were denials and fear and suspicion and paranoia.

But Augus wouldn’t stop moving, and it reminded him suddenly of when they’d been in the lake, when he’d nearly _killed_ Augus, and Augus had then, too, unwound him, made him come to the tune of this strange dread in his heart. But this was far worse, a nausea all the way through him, tangled up in knots alongside the pleasure of it all. He didn’t know what to do, what he wanted, what was happening.

On the back of reassurances, praise came, falling from Augus’ mouth in benedictions that Gwyn’s mind refused to let resolve into words. It was only tone, the rise and fall, the lilt of it. Augus’ voice melodic and soft in his ears, emphasising words like ‘good’ and ‘brave’ and ‘sweetness’ and ‘oh, I know, my dear heart, I know.’

Augus was merciless in his care, and Gwyn had forgotten how to fight back, he didn’t know what he was supposed to be pitting himself against, didn’t know how to anchor himself. He opened his mouth to beg and Augus’ mouth was there, calmly swallowing every word that formed and faltered behind his lips. 

His orgasm took him by surprise. He knew it had been building, but he’d been distracted by fear and was only brought back by the locked spasms of his muscles, the keening noise he made against Augus’ lips, vibrating sound between them. It ran fingers of sensation all the way through him, strained his spine and his hips, and he gasped and shuddered through it. And still, Augus murmuring praise and reassuring noises and telling him that he’d done so very, very well.

It was only seconds later that Augus came, almost entirely quiet except for one thick moan torn from him. Gwyn was still shivering through his own release, sticky with sweat, belly slick from precome and his own release, torso still wearing stripes of lubricant. He felt wet, clumsy in his own flesh, his body shuddering through wave after wave of pleasure.

Whatever Augus had cracked open inside of him was new and ugly. It was too much alongside the wounds he already bore. Too wide, too gaping and inescapable. He had no words for it, only that it was _there,_ and it wouldn’t _go._ And as Augus withdrew, nausea followed abruptly on the heels of his arousal, and he was pushing blindly at Augus – who was telling him to ‘wait’ and saying something else – and Gwyn ran into Augus’ bathroom, only vaguely aware he’d never been _in_ it before.

He threw up, sobbing as he did so, aware of the spasms moving through him, mimicking his release, with nothing of catharsis in them. He closed his lips around the pain of it once he’d finished dry retching, and he was on his knees on the tiles, an arm wrapped around himself and the other in his hair as he desperately tried to master himself. He did not cry like this, and _nothing_ had happened to him. _Nothing._

He sensed Augus’ presence in the bathroom and couldn’t even look at him, moaning, wounded, instead.

‘What’s happening to me?’ he said, pressing his palm to his mouth when he felt sobs threatening in his lungs again. But words forced their way out instead, cracked and broken. ‘What did you do to me? What did you do?’

And Augus was by his side, kneeling beside him, drawing him close and wrapping arms around him. He pressed lips into the top of his head, dragged Gwyn away from the toilet until they were leaning against a bathroom cabinet. Gwyn’s legs stayed curled up underneath him, and he turned into Augus’ body, even as Augus dragged a towel down from a nearby rack and pulled it over his shoulders.

‘What did you do to me?’ Gwyn said, his voice high, unsteady.

‘Now you can say you understand what gently is,’ Augus said, his own voice shaking. ‘For the first time in over  three thousand years, you can say it.’

He sounded tired, and his head thumped back against the cabinet.

‘Now you know,’ he said.

Gwyn shook harder, burrowed his head into Augus’ neck until it was only shadows and the smell of the blood drying on Augus’ back, herbal scents of whatever lotions Augus used in his bathroom, and the thick, heady scent of the sex they’d just had. The wound inside of his heart twisted, cracked open wider.

_‘Oh,’_ Gwyn said, squeezing his eyes shut, swallowing around the hugeness of the wreckage inside of him. Augus’ arms tightened around him until Gwyn felt an ache blossom where they were banded. But he didn’t want Augus to let up, and instead he just sank freely into Augus’ chest, feeling Augus’ pulse beneath his skin, his heart.

‘You’ll get used to it.’

Gwyn started to laugh until his voice cracked, until one of Augus’ hands came up and buried in his hair, drawing him closer and massaging the back of his head. And Gwyn became aware – still laughing – that he was hysterical. He didn’t react like this to _anything,_ not torture, not pain, not _anything._ Here he was, falling apart.

He didn’t think he wanted to get used to it, but even if he did, he didn’t know _how_ it would be possible. Augus was the only one he’d ever allowed to do that to him, and he didn’t know if he could ever accept it from anyone else. Augus would be gone soon. The word an echo in his head. _Gone._ He would be free as it was possible to be, and he would no longer be forced to spend time with his rapist captor; the false King.

And Gwyn kept laughing, the sound of it broken and dull, because he’d stolen something from Augus, and he didn’t know exactly what – aside from his freedom – it was. But Augus had stolen something from him too and left this open wound inside of him, a maw of hurt, and Gwyn clung onto Augus, unsure, trembling.

Gwyn had entered into a half-doze some time later when Augus drew him upright carefully, keeping the towel wrapped around him.

‘You need to lie down,’ Augus said, drawing him by the hand back into his room, turning down the blankets, dragging Gwyn into bed with him. Gwyn didn’t need much encouragement. His head was a ball of cotton wool, his chest hurt. For something that had caused so little pain, he ached now. His soul was exhausted. He wanted to give up. He didn’t know how.

‘Come along,’ Augus said, drawing the blankets up over them both before tugging Gwyn close once more. And Gwyn went, unable to resist, until his cheek was resting on damp hair and he felt Augus’ eyes on him. He could feel Augus’ worry. He didn’t want to see it.

‘You needed to know,’ Augus said finally, heavily. ‘Maybe that wasn’t the right thing to do, but you needed to know. And I can’t stand the idea of someone else showing you and getting it wrong. And,’ Augus chuckled ruefully, ‘I simply can’t stand the idea of someone else showing you at all.’

Gwyn didn’t say anything, didn’t open his eyes. He felt like the light had been let off inside him somehow, reduced him to an internal wasteland. He wasn’t even shaking. He was limp against Augus, who trailed patterns and letters over his skin. Gwyn picked some of them out, but was too tired to care about piecing together the words.

Augus pressed his lips to his, kept them closed. He lingered, and Gwyn moaned softly, felt sleep beckoning. Not a doze after all, but actual sleep. He supposed he might need it. He’d needed more since visiting Tigbalan, though it had come with the side effect of more nightmares.

‘Sweetness,’ Augus said against his lips, smiling.

Gwyn rumbled a faint sound of discontent.

‘Grumpy already?’ Augus murmured. ‘A good sign, I believe.’

Gwyn was still sticky, he knew he’d need a shower when he woke up, but he didn’t have the energy to deal with any of it now. And a part of him liked it, liked that he was full of Augus’ release, that he was marked with the signs of what they’d done. He burrowed closer, pulling Augus to him absently, tangling a hand in his damp hair.

He fell asleep warm and held, wounded and heartbroken, not understanding why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, 'Forest:'
> 
> ‘Tigbalan bragged,’ Gwyn said, rubbing a hand over his face. ‘That thing you said he might do, he did. Apparently he went to the Unseelie Court and told _everyone._ I’ve had to deal with Gulvi asking what I could get from him that I couldn’t get from her. And then Albion...’


	32. Forest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No new tags or warnings for this chapter. 
> 
> A massive massive thank you as always. Not gonna stand in the way much with this chapter, I just hope you enjoy it. :) <3

Gwyn’s increased cautiousness around Augus – as though he couldn’t quite tell whether Augus was going to betray him or not after treating him so gently – was a bruise in Augus’ chest that he couldn’t shake. In amongst his fury at Gwyn for almost getting himself killed, his impatience with Gwyn’s ignorance, his disgust with Gwyn’s upbringing, was an affection that grew the more he thought about Gwyn and all he’d survived. How – after all that – he still kissed sweetly, still tried to be careful of his hands and his body, could lay his hands so gently on Augus’ side, was a combination of traits that Augus couldn’t have guessed at the first time they’d met.

It was a revelation that while Augus had been thinking of a way to get Gwyn out of the Seelie Court, Gwyn had gone and gotten himself _tortured_ to try and make sure that Augus might actually stand a chance if released. _Invisibility._ Augus couldn’t quite wrap his mind around it.

_That’s a very extreme case of one-upmanship and he really should be broken of that, because he’s just showing you up now._

Gwyn’s crescendo of panic and fear while Augus had made love to him had told him all he needed to know and more besides. The dazed, lost creature that had mentally blanked in the bathroom afterwards, had gone limp with a bone-deep exhaustion, was – Augus thought – too vulnerable to be allowed. But it was easy to underestimate Gwyn. He’d gone through two weeks of torture, he’d ruined himself, yet he still managed strength and even wit.

Gwyn’s vulnerability was like Augus’, it seemed so obvious once witnessed, but almost no one was allowed to witness it.

Augus was aware of the privilege, and not interested any longer in deluding himself into thinking he’d forced it from him. He’d seen how Gwyn could mentally check out of something he wasn’t interested in talking about or experiencing. It highlighted all the more how much of a gift it was when Gwyn _didn’t_ do that.

And so Gwyn had endured for him. He’d bravely faced everything Augus had shown him, even though he’d struggled and was tired and had scraped agony into Augus’ back in a vindictive show that Augus was faintly proud of. But he’d also broken beneath the weight of gentleness in a way he never had for anything else. It was one thing to know objectively that Gwyn hadn’t experienced much by the way of genuine, lasting care. It was another thing to see it, to experience it, to feel muscles shaking in terror beneath his fingers and hear the fractured way Gwyn had begged for it to be over.

Augus couldn’t even taunt him for it. The whole situation was too sad, too pathetic.

It left Augus hollow and aching. Because what future waited for him, for either of them? Gwyn didn’t believe Augus carried affection for him, and Augus didn’t know what would happen if he was released. He oscillated between cockily thinking he was a survivor and he’d be fine, and wondering if Ash would be mourning him within twenty four hours of his release.

And Augus was no idiot, he saw the way Gwyn looked at him. Gwyn would not take it well if Augus went and got killed immediately after his release.

And _release,_ he could hardly imagine it. He didn’t know exactly what he’d do. He’d need a new lake, a new home, Gulvi would probably try to kill him, first in a very long line of other fae who would like to as well.

At the forefront of his mind he thought of Ash with a fond, desperate yearning. Things had not been okay between them for so long before he’d been captured, not since the very first time Augus’ life had been turned upside down by...

Augus shook himself, rolled his eyes.

It wasn’t worth getting worked up over. He wasn’t released _yet._ He didn’t have the new power _yet._ He had quite enough to be dealing with in the Seelie Court.

Then there were other things that intrigued him. Gwyn had access to materials and stock that Augus didn’t when he was in power in the Unseelie Court. The trows could get things that he struggled to get his own servants to find when he’d been King, and the trows did it so easily. Augus had access to higher quality fabrics, to bolts of water-wicking material which weren’t ever likely to be replicated; woven from extinct spiders, soaked and spun from the cocoons of the tiny red merling birds which hadn’t been seen for centuries. They didn’t just find him things that he wanted, they found him things they _thought_ he wanted.

When he pulled a high quality rapier from the treasury – recognising the maker and grinning when he realised it was of Unseelie make – the two trows he’d befriended had turned up three days later with a better quality rapier from the same smith. Augus wasn’t sure, but it seemed to have magical properties and it definitely had very nice balance to it.

For all that he couldn’t just leave whenever he wanted to, he had things to do with his time. He had new things to try, new herbs to play with, new foods to eat. He had been out of touch with the sensualities of life, he hadn’t permitted them when he’d been trying to overtake the Raven Prince’s Court. Back then, anything that had been indulgent made him feel as though he was wasting his time, as though he was forgetting that the only thing that mattered was revenge.

But revenge wasn’t the only thing that mattered now, and Augus was slowly remembering what it was to mix tinctures – which had come in handy when Gwyn came back so injured his bones weren’t knitting together properly. He was remembering how to design clothing, remembering the tricks of outfitting his own body, learning new things about what he liked in fashion. He was remembering what it was to simply _be._

In rediscovering these things, he reminded himself of what he’d lacked for so long, what he lacked now, what he might never have in the future.

_Still, there’s nothing that can be done about it except go bother Gwyn some more, and maybe ask those trows for some other impossible ingredient just to see them heed the fae kingdom pariah._

Augus sighed and lowered his book to his chest. He’d stopped reading it some time ago. He wondered what Gwyn was doing.

He decided to find out.

*

‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ Gwyn snarled.

Gwyn was in his personal training arena, hammering the life out of several wooden dummies with his sword. Sparks flew whenever he cut straight through wood into the metal frames, and Augus raised his eyebrows and felt his breathing quicken when Gwyn simply hammered at the metal frames themselves until they gave under the weight of his sword.

There was a keen, brute strength to Gwyn that he had always been aware of, but never really _seen,_ until he’d watched him train in his own palace. It made him wonder what Gwyn looked like in the middle of a melee, at the front of a battle-line. All that musculature bunched and gathered and released under the force of his blows, and it was clear that he was a product of war, training, hours of physical effort that Augus didn’t have the time to bother with, himself.

But as much as he wanted to admire, he had other things on his mind.

_As fun as it is to watch Gwyn kill metal..._

‘What delights did the Kingdom bring you today?’

Gwyn growled – indicating he’d heard the question – and then planted his feet and sheared through a damaged section of metal, throwing an arc of sparks onto the floor, where they winked for several seconds before slowly fading away.

After that, Augus decided that admiring Gwyn put his body to work wouldn’t be such a bad way to pass the time, and he leaned against the railing, a fairly safe distance away, and simply watched as Gwyn murdered inanimate objects as though his life depended on it.

He was dripping sweat by the time he stopped, visibly tired. A muscle in his shoulder was locked in repeated spasms, and Augus watched it idly, fingers itching to pressing into the trigger points that would unlock the tension.

He doubted Gwyn would let him near, and Augus didn’t trust that he wouldn’t torment instead.

‘Confound her,’ Gwyn said weakly, shaking sweat out of his wet hair in a gesture that reminded him so profoundly of Ash, Augus turned away for several seconds.

'That delightful mother of yours?’ Augus said, trying to concentrate.

‘She thinks she can corner me in my own Court, _threaten_ me.’

‘She doesn’t _think_ she can. That’s obviously what she did.’

Augus straightened, fingers curling around the railing. Gwyn rarely talked about his relationship with his mother. He’d gathered that his relationship with Lludd was terrifying, and marked with much one-sided violence. But there was a sinister element to Gwyn’s relationship with Crielle. Gwyn didn’t talk about the things that bothered him most. Augus didn’t think it was a coincidence that Gwyn had talked more about Lludd’s monstrosities before he’d ever revealed the slightest thing about Crielle.

‘She’s ahead of me,’ Gwyn rasped. ‘She’s ahead of me in the game, and I don’t know what she has planned. I can’t _see_ it. Since she discovered that I had a hand in Efnisien’s death, she’s been-’

‘I’m sorry, what?’ Augus said, eyes narrowing.

‘Did I not tell you?’ Gwyn laughed weakly. ‘I thought I’d told you.’

_No, you daft idiot, you tell me_ nothing.

‘She thinks _I_ killed him,’ Gwyn said, and Augus felt something cold sink through the centre of him. ‘Of course I can’t tell her otherwise. Not that I think the world is lacking for Efnisien no longer being a part of it. But since then, she’s been-’

‘You should have dissembled better,’ Augus said, and Gwyn glared at him.

A moment later his expression went cold, and that was even worse. Gwyn was unpredictable when the emotion cleared from his face, and there was nothing more than that vague dissatisfaction stamped into his features.

‘Except I forgot that you can’t keep your mind straight around her,’ Augus added.

Gwyn opened his mouth to respond, and then shook his head abruptly and itched at his neck where sweat dripped down. He stretched out his shoulder, stared off and looked at something only he could see.

‘I only wish it was a bluff,’ Gwyn said, absently. ‘She’s not bluffing. I don’t think she expects me to see out the year.’

‘I don’t like her chances,’ Augus laughed. ‘You’re not dead yet.’

Gwyn stared at him, for so long that Augus’ laughter disappeared, and the smile melted from his face.

‘And what did her cruelty look like, when you lived with her?’ Augus said.

Gwyn scratched at the back of his head and shrugged.

He walked out of the training room through a door that Augus could only access if he ducked under the barrier, and Augus was just about to when he saw the sudden flare of light indicating that Gwyn was using his tried and true method of teleporting away from a conversation he didn’t want to have.

_Cheat._

*

Augus kept his senses open for Gwyn’s return, and the next morning he was wandering the corridors when he realised that Gwyn’s scent was getting stronger. Copper and iron and... _fear._ More than usual.

Augus felt his heart give a sudden hiccough of panic. Gwyn wasn’t the only one who’d experienced increased worry after his encounter with Tigbalan. Whenever Gwyn disappeared now, Augus couldn’t help but wonder if this would be it; if Gwyn would get himself killed, and Augus would be slaughtered soon after, wondering if he could have done something differently to prevent their fates falling in the same, idiotic direction.

He opened the door to Gwyn’s room without knocking, paused in the doorway. The room was filled with the scent of it, the acridity of Gwyn’s fear, and yet he was simply sitting on the edge of his bed, slumped against a sturdy post, looking down at the floor as though he were tired and relaxed.

It was a _lie._

Gwyn looked at him slowly, raising his head as though it was too heavy to bear.

‘Crielle?’ Augus said, and Gwyn smiled bitterly, as though he wished it were.

‘Tigbalan bragged,’ Gwyn said, rubbing a hand over his face. ‘That thing you said he might do, he did. Apparently he went to the Unseelie Court and told _everyone._ I’ve had to deal with Gulvi asking what I could get from him that I couldn’t get from her. And then Albion...’

Gwyn looked towards the ceiling. They both couldn’t see through it, but Augus knew from what he’d seen of the more forested areas of the Seelie palace, that it looked like a glowing, golden day outside. As it always did. It never seemed to storm or rain in the Seelie Court.

‘Tigbalan can’t breach his own nature; he can’t tell anyone what you traded for.’

‘He didn’t need to,’ Gwyn spat. ‘What would I let myself be beaten for two weeks for, if not to trade for a new power? Albion wanted to know _what_ I could possibly need that I would let myself be sullied by some Unseelie fae in such a fashion, and Crielle – oh – she...’

Gwyn swallowed thickly and then squeezed his eyes shut.

‘When no one was looking, she leaned in and told me that if I missed father so much, she could happily organise for someone to come treat me so.’

Augus felt a flash of something hot inside of him, followed by an oozing, cold rage. His fingers twitched by his sides. He took a slow breath in, held it for several seconds.

Though alongside it, a sliver of gratitude. He’d brought up Crielle and Gwyn had escaped the conversation, and now in their next meeting, Gwyn was talking about her more openly. Augus didn’t know if that was a conscious decision on his behalf, but he recognised that it must have taken some mental gymnastics for Gwyn to be able to even mention it. He held his tongue and took in how drawn Gwyn looked. Augus wondered how much it cost him not to retreat to the madness, not to lose himself in the need to destroy everything around him.

‘If you can be bothered to lift your weary head, you might like to consider leaving for a little while. Don’t you find forests regenerative? Why aren’t you in one?’

Gwyn rolled his shoulders in an attempt at a shrug.

‘Come along then, take us somewhere outside of this Court. Perhaps somewhere I’m not likely to be murdered immediately.’

‘Or escape,’ Gwyn muttered.

_Honestly._

‘Mm, not today. I mean, really, out of all the opportunities I’ve had – and there’s been a few, Gwyn – do you think it would be now? When you look like you’d tip into your hunt-happy madness quite easily? Just because you have no sense of self-preservation doesn’t mean I have to hitch up to that wagon. Come along, Crielle has always been evil, and Courts will always be terrible, the Seelie Court most of all, especially while Crielle seems to be running most of it. Let’s go somewhere there is no Court.’

He realised as he began to push for it, his dra’ocht was winding up inside of him, a sign that he needed the break more than he’d realised. He’d had a taste of it at that eye-opening wasteland Gwyn had taken him to. Just being away from the Court would have to help, and he’d noticed that Gwyn hadn’t been leaving as often at a time when he may have benefitted from it the most.

_At the very least, the static buzz of Seelie in the back of my head will disappear for a time._

Gwyn was watching him, expressions moving across his face, each a tired version of a usually vitalised emotion. There was suspicion in the narrowing of his eyes and the slight tightening of his lips, and then on its heels a sort of relief, his eyebrows twisting up and together, as though he hadn’t considered just leaving himself.

_Such a perfect prisoner that he imprisons himself. I’d give Lludd an award right before I murdered him._

Gwyn stood up and walked past him, and Augus wondered if the conversation was over. Instead, Gwyn went to his wall and took his recurve bow down, picked up his quiver of arrows, strapping it over his shoulder. Augus resisted reacting to that, keeping his expression even. He hadn’t entirely forgotten the indignity of being hunted by that very bow with arrows very like those. And when Gwyn looked down at his bow and then up at Augus, it seemed that Gwyn was remembering the same event.

At least he didn’t remember it fondly.

Gwyn held his hand out and Augus took it, wondering if perhaps suggesting they go to a forest while Gwyn had a bow and arrows was a recipe for disaster. Then again, he liked disasters. They were so much more interesting than the status quo, and they gave him something to do with his time.

Light transported them away, and Augus breathed a sigh of relief as soon as he felt the constraints of the Seelie Court leave them, before they’d materialised anywhere.

*

They landed before a small, wooden cabin. But it wasn’t the structure that took Augus’ notice, but the fact that all the plants, shrubs, trees nearby had somehow been landscaped. There was a harmony to them. He looked around, wide-eyed, because they all belonged in the ecosystem. The towering silver oaks with their metallic leaves quivering in the breeze; only found in the fae world. There was wych elm with its stunning, bright green leaves, and shorter stands of hazel with dense bushy canopies perfect for hiding behind and keeping watching eyes away. There was also the very rare fairy hornbeam, attractive to the diminutive fairy species.

‘Are we on the fae side of Surrey?’ Augus asked. ‘Does that seem _safe_ to you?’

‘I’ve often found that the best hiding grounds are the ones where no one expects you to go. But you need not fear, Augus. This land is warded and the spells will last for as long as I am King.’

‘The cabin is yours then.’

‘Yes,’ Gwyn said simply, walking off towards it.

There was already something more relaxed, awake about his tone. Augus followed and then was brought up short by a row of tetterwort.

‘Did you find the land like his? What fae did it?’

Gwyn paused, turned. A small, shy smile was on his face.

‘It’s pleasing?’ he hedged.

‘ _You?’_ Augus said, looking around at the carefully crafted landscape around him. It was designed to create a clearing, screen the cabin but be aesthetic, but Augus was most impressed by the fact that Gwyn had tried to create a sort of ecosystem of his own. All the plants belonged in this forest, and Gwyn had simply put them where he thought they might be most attractive to the naked eye. It was...startling. For a machine of death and destruction, it was an artisanal craftsmanship that made something warm pool in his heart. It was akin to watching him work on his maps, craft his calligraphy.

Gwyn walked towards him and looked up at all the silvery oaks himself. As if on cue – and it very well might have been, Augus realised – a crisp wind sprung up and made the trees sing.

And these trees were not new, were not even hundreds of years old, they were _ancient._

‘Where have you taken me?’ Augus said. ‘How old is this place? How old is that cabin?’

Gwyn cleared his throat nervously. A hand came up and moved uncertainly through his own hair, disturbing curls, unsettling everything. Augus walked up to him in an instant, reached up and settled it again. Gwyn watched him, bemused. There was a faint hint of confusion, even indulgence on his face. Expressions that he rarely saw in the Court itself.

His hand started to curve towards Gwyn’s cheek and something flickered in Gwyn’s expression, he stepped away.

‘You told me that I needed...a place away from everything. Truthfully, I’d had forest cabins before I saw you, but I didn’t visit them as much when I started winning all my campaigns. I became quite entrenched in battle culture. I was surrounded by soldiers.’

‘And if I remember rightly, fucking them, and occasionally whoring yourself out to them when hammered.’

Gwyn stilled.

_Ah, sensitive subject. Well, rape usually is._

For Gwyn had never said as much, but anyone who wandered into camp so drunk they couldn’t possibly consent, and ‘allowed themselves to be taken,’ as Gwyn had framed it, had likely had at least one or two moments of wanting to rescind their permission. And his soldiers...Augus knew they wouldn’t all have likely been gentle with him. But Augus also knew that Gwyn would never see it as anything other than muddled, drunken sexual exploits, and he let it lie.

As much as he could let anything lie.

‘I built this, after I saw you,’ Gwyn continued. ‘I planted the land around it. I knew it would take some time to grow, but I thought it might be well to have something to focus on that _wasn’t_ battle. I had abandoned much of my love of cartography and rediscovered it again in the process of spending time here.’

‘It’s peaceful,’ Augus said.

The best part was it didn’t feel like the Seelie Court, everything else was just a bonus.

The worst part was that it hinted at that deep, undercurrent of sweetness that Gwyn had in his nature. That, beneath the brute and the beast – and Augus appreciated both of those parts of Gwyn very much, _usually –_ was this gentler creature who had earned the name ‘sweetness.’ It attracted him, but it was also repellent. It made Gwyn too easy to attack, too easy to dig his fingers into the soft parts of him and squeeze and suffocate. He didn’t trust himself. He wanted to cherish it and then rip at it, watch him squirm.

Perhaps it was only that he hadn’t hunted properly in too long, but he couldn’t be certain.

‘Do you want to see the inside of the cabin?’ Gwyn said, and the hesitancy in his voice made Augus want to lash out.

Augus only raised his eyebrows and then gestured with his hand for Gwyn to lead the way.

The door opened without a creak, the inside was preserved. It was spacious enough for a single room of generous size. There was a long, single bed with what looked like a hand-made mattress that still smelled faintly of preserved heather and possibly down. Cured pelts were rucked all over it, where Gwyn hadn’t bothered to make the bed the last time he’d left. There was a single window, a desk that had a single fountain pen broken down into its component parts.

It was the walls that fascinated Augus. Augus was drawn to them while Gwyn put down the bow and the quiver of arrows on the bed. The walls were pinned with what looked like slivers of bone, holding in place intricate maps drawn in a Gwyn’s distinct and sophisticated hand. The lettering was more ornate, with more flourishes, great care taken. Augus walked up to one and placed his hand on the parchment, feeling it brittle beneath his fingers. It had been poor quality parchment when Gwyn had started, because the magic in the cabin would have preserved it as it was in the moment. He wondered at that. Surely Gwyn could have afforded better.

‘Why maps?’ Augus said, tracing the curve of a river through a region he didn’t recognise. ‘And for how long has this been a hobby of yours?’

Gwyn walked up to one of the other maps, this one at least a metre across and scribed almost entirely in shades of brown and green. He leaned into it and smelled it, scenting the inks perhaps. When he leaned away there was an expression on Gwyn’s face that made Augus hungry to consume it. His eyes were closed, lashes delicately balanced. The slightest smile at the corners of his mouth, no lines at all on his forehead. He was beautiful, and once more Augus couldn’t decide if he wanted to cherish or if he wanted to dig, but he _wanted_ him, and it was such an unexpected flood through him that he had to focus on his breathing, remind himself that he wasn’t like this; and certainly not for someone like Gwyn.

‘Gwyn,’ Augus prompted, voice harsh.

'Ah,’ Gwyn said, startling, the expression disappearing. Augus wanted to screech that he’d removed it, but he was finding it harder to concentrate. In the relative freedom outside of the Seelie Court, it wasn’t thoughts of escape that found him, but thoughts of Gwyn, of wanting to understand him better. His life had been turned upside down, certainly, but did it have to be so damned humiliating?

‘All the typical reasons I suppose. I like knowing a place. And I enjoy exploration, so it isn’t much of a matter to measure the region in my mind and illustrate it when I return. It was also...you can possibly imagine, the only way I could do anything like it in the An-Fnwy estate. I wasn’t permitted to get tutoring in the arts, though I...think I asked.’

Gwyn’s brow furrowed in thought.

‘I don’t remember, I was quite young when I asked. That was back when I still thought I had a chance of ever being listened to.’

Gwyn laughed softly, and Augus felt like leaning against the wall and scratching the wood up underneath his fingernails. He pushed away thoughts of Gwyn’s family, how murderous they made him feel, and focused on Gwyn instead.

‘So you cheated the system,’ Augus said, smiling. He waved a hand at all the maps on the wall. ‘This was your way of getting something your father didn’t want you to have.’

‘I suppose, yes,’ Gwyn said, shrugging. ‘He didn’t like it, but how could he protest truly? My maps were accurate and they were of a high standard, they _had_ to be, or he would have made me stop. So I made sure I could...produce strategy worthy maps, and then he couldn’t stop me, because I was being asked to produce them for others.’

‘Clever,’ Augus said, and Gwyn’s eyes widened in shock. He raised his eyebrows as though he couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard, and Augus didn’t feel like pushing the matter. It was enough that he’d said it in the first place.

‘I passed a lot of time here,’ Gwyn said, turning back to the map and tracing a jagged line of fjords with his fingertip. ‘After I saw you, after my centre changed, I needed somewhere I could go and be away from people.’

‘Was it lonely?’

‘No,’ Gwyn said, turning and leaning his back against the wall, folding his arms. ‘Should it have been?’

‘No,’ Augus said, shaking his head. He knew better than most how fulfilling aloneness could be.

‘My master scriber was very good. He taught me how to source and make my own inks, my quills, even how to make fountain pens, though I prefer buying them. He was very patient with me, because often when trying to learn the nuances of the letter, my skill with my hands was clumsy. Training with bows and swords all week, or hand to hand combat, made them ill-suited to the finery of calligraphy. I had to put in extra time to make sure I would improve. I was slowest at cartography when compared to anything else I did.’

‘Did you ever feel like giving up?’ Augus said, watching as Gwyn looked down at his own calloused hands.

‘Sometimes,’ Gwyn said, frowning. ‘Master Ethwynn told me not to, asked that I be patient. He said if I wanted to learn how to scribe the stories of the land, I had to wait for the land to speak to me, anyway. He said it was better if it took some time to learn, so I couldn’t rush it. And now I like the patience of it. The time it takes. I’m no Master cartographer, like Master Ethwynn, but...I think he’d be pleased that I was still doing it. Maybe.’

‘He died?’

‘He was killed,’ Gwyn sighed and his hands dropped. ‘Of course that’s the risk cartographers run in the fae world, I suppose. He was taken hostage by an Unseelie clan of ambaros, who insisted he map out a hostile region. He refused, thinking they bluffed when they said they’d kill him. It wasn’t a bluff. No one had time to mount a rescue operation. It was a great loss to our- to...to the Seelie side.’

Gwyn closed his eyes, pained, and Augus realised something he hadn’t quite fit into place yet.

‘They might not be your people, but you’ve been fighting for them, on their side, all your life. I think it still counts as your side.’

‘You may be right.’

_Of course I’m right._

Augus realised with some surprise that being here in the cabin, out in the forest, was helping. Gwyn was alert, his eyes were brighter, his shoulders were higher than before. Everything about him was not exactly animated, but certainly more infused with life. He hadn’t expected the change to happen so fast – if it had happened at all – and seeing how quickly Gwyn responded to being outside of the Seelie Court was at once pleasing and a concern. Because they had to go back at some point, and the place would resume crushing him under its weight once more.

‘So this was who you became for a time, after I had you,’ Augus said, mind drifting back over memories. ‘What a mess you were when I first saw you. It was good though, to have you choking on your own pain, twisting you up into pleasure, making you confess.’

Gwyn took a shaky breath and Augus watched him with hooded eyes, an idea having been in the back of his mind since they arrived.

‘What did you like about it?’ Augus said, watching as Gwyn flushed red and turned his face away from Augus’, staring resolutely at what looked like a whorl in the wood grain of the wall.

Gwyn said nothing, and Augus didn’t expect him to. He walked over and slid his hands underneath Gwyn’s shirt, his palms riding the sharp inhale he made. He slid his hands all the way up to Gwyn’s shoulders, exposing his torso, revealing it to the cabin.

‘What did you like about it?’ Augus said again. ‘I remember dragging your arms behind your back, and the sounds of pain you made as you _let_ it happen. Because I know now, I know that you allowed it, even if you felt like you didn’t. You didn’t teleport away, you didn’t make your mind absent. You let yourself gasp into the pain of your shoulders, shuddered against me like it was something you were born to do.’

Gwyn’s breathing was already unsteady, his heart was picking up speed. Augus rubbed at his skin, then dropped his palms down to his nipples and brushed over them, before plucking both between his fingertips, one after the other, a constant stream of sensory feedback that had Gwyn bracing himself with one hand flat on the wall. His other came up and touched Augus’ side. He never grabbed, he only ever pressed his palm flat, or sometimes curled his fingers slightly. He touched like he expected to be shaken off, and it made Augus want to show him how to take something for granted for once.

But not today. Too much work, this was supposed to be a break.

‘I want you,’ Augus said quietly. ‘I want to split you apart in your cabin around all the maps you made to escape whatever you were dealing with at the time. So that you’ll come here again to escape, but not to escape _me.’_

‘Gods,’ Gwyn breathed, head tilting back against the wall. His hair stuck to the poorly polished planks, clung white-gold to it.

Augus’ hand shot up and grabbed a handful of his hair, pulling his head roughly to the side and biting down hard on his neck, feeling muscle shift beneath his skin. He didn’t break through, but it was very good hearing Gwyn’s shocked sound of wanting. And it was even better knowing that Augus could bleach some of the viciousness out of his system through this, knowing Gwyn wanted it.

‘How do you want it?’ Augus said as he licked the bite mark with long sweeps of his tongue. ‘Fast? Slow? Rough? _Painful?’_

He dropped his hand down and cupped Gwyn’s growing cock roughly in his palm, massaging it in a way that made Gwyn squirm backwards, and then forwards again, caught between the wall and Augus’ body, breath huffing out between his lips.

Augus pulled down Gwyn’s pants, cupped one hand over his cock and then yanked them roughly, leaving them where they caught at his knees. He reached up with his fingers and shoved them between Gwyn’s open mouth, pushing so deep he could feel the back of his throat working as he struggled not to gag and failed. Augus smirked, squeezed Gwyn’s cock hard when he felt a tongue working up between his fingers, when he felt the cleverness of that wet muscle curl around and into the crease between them, making Augus shiver.

When he was satisfied the fingers were wet enough, he swapped hands, dropping the wet one down to Gwyn’s cock and starting to move his hand on him immediately; a fast, punishing pace that had Gwyn crying out hoarsely until he stopped his own voice. And Augus had been waiting for that, dug his fingers in between Gwyn’s teeth and then pulled his jaw down, lapping at his lower lip and listening to the sounds that spun forth, Gwyn vocalising helplessly, trying to close his jaw without snapping it shut on Augus’ fingers.

When Augus lightly scratched nails up one side of Gwyn’s cock, and then down the vein on the underside, Gwyn cried out high and long, an exhale of sobbing following immediately after. He tried to get away from that, but seconds later his hips had pressed forwards again, asking for more.

Augus twisted his palm over the head of his cock, then scratched at the tip of him, circling the flare of his cock with the edge of his nail.

Gwyn was struggling to catch his breath now, one of his hands making sounds where he banged it haphazardly into the wall, the other curved tight around Augus’ waist and hanging on as though he wasn’t sure he could hold himself up. Augus leaned closer, pinned his chest to Gwyn’s chest, made sure he would stay upright if his knees buckled. He hadn’t thought it likely, but maybe Gwyn needed this more than Augus knew.

Augus licked into Gwyn’s open mouth, bit at the curve of his jaw, kept up the rough pace and sped up until Gwyn tried to form a word but couldn’t. Augus wouldn’t move his grip from his jaw, bottom teeth cutting into the sensitive undersides of his fingers, and well worth it to hear every noise that would normally have been swallowed behind closed lips.

‘The sooner you come, the sooner you can drink down your own release, Gwyn. Think about that.’

Gwyn wailed and stiffened at the same time, his cock thickening slightly in Augus’ hand before spasms of release found him, each one roughly and quickly moving through him, as merciless as Augus had been, quick and wrenching. Gwyn was whimpering even as Augus removed his fingers from his mouth. His mouth stayed open, lips slack, eyes closed, brow furrowed from the force of his release. Even Augus hadn’t expected him to come quite so soon, but it was no matter, since he planned on him coming again.

Augus brought up his other hand, dripping with Gwyn’s come, and smeared it against his lips, laughing indulgently when Gwyn’s tongue slipped out of his mouth and licked a circle into the palm of his hand.

‘By the gods you are _obedient.’_

Gwyn moaned.

‘Will you let me fuck you into the floor? Twist your arms up behind your back? Your knees might get hurt.’

Gwyn was gasping again, hadn’t stopped, really. He was trying to lick his own come off Augus’ hand, shaking as though he might have trouble keeping himself upright otherwise. Augus laughed under his breath. Pulling this needy creature out of Gwyn’s usual even demeanour was addictive.

‘Yes, okay, yes,’ Gwyn gasped. ‘The floor.’

Augus waited until his hand was mostly clean, spit-slick, and stepped back, licking a stripe of Gwyn’s come off himself and feeling a rush of pleasure at the noise of pure want Gwyn made when he noticed. Gwyn’s release was as stark as the rest of him, bitter and metallic and even hostile, though Augus wondered if his own thoughts on the matter were biased; his first introduction to the taste of Gwyn’s seed had been under very different circumstances.

‘Undress then,’ Augus said, stepping back and pulling his own shirt off. He kept his pants on, only removing the belt and tossing it to the bed, drawing out the lubricant in his pocket. Keeping it with him everywhere had been one of the better decisions he’d made since commencing whatever relationship it was he had with Gwyn.

The haste with which Gwyn took off his clothing was flattering, and Augus wrapped his own hand around his cock, stroking it to full hardness, his own arousal having been initially pushed aside when he realised how fast it was building. Gwyn’s eyes were drawn to his moving hand, and he slowed down as he watched, licking his lips absently. Augus almost changed his mind right then, asking Gwyn to kneel and worship, but that was more Gwyn’s style – Augus rolled his eyes to remember – and Augus wanted to be buried deep, pulling Gwyn’s head back, exposing his throat, riding noise out of him until he shattered.

‘Floor,’ Augus said, pointing to it. ‘On your hands and knees.’

Gwyn paused for a few seconds, baulking. Augus grinned at him, and Gwyn took a shaking breath, lowering himself to his knees and staring up at Augus.

‘You like this entirely too much,’ Gwyn said, looking up at his face after appearing mesmerised by Augus’ hand on his own cock.

Augus nodded, poured lubricant on his fingers.

‘You should try it some time, getting a King to kneel before his captive. It was so tedious when it was the other way around.’

Augus walked around behind Gwyn and pushed him down at the shoulders, making sure he went all the way to his hands. Gwyn’s resistance wasn’t token, and for a minute Gwyn made him work for it. Augus dug his claws into two pressure points and Gwyn hissed a breath of pain out of the back of his throat, going down all the way.

Augus reached around underneath him first, wrapping a hand around his limp member, squeezing on the edge of too hard so that Gwyn’s muscles bunched, his fingers curled into the floorboards. Augus realised they should have put furs down first, and then decided this was better. He was still wearing his pants, and they’d protect his own knees.

And Augus could take advantage of Gwyn’s newfound ability to heal quickly, now that he was clear of Tigbalan’s cruel, methodic madness.

He stroked long lines down Gwyn’s body, from his shoulders, down his sides, all the way down his flanks, curving his palms around his thighs. He was smearing the lubricant off his fingers but it was simple enough to apply more, and he liked touching him. Gwyn was responsive even when he was quiet. He trembled, he shifted, and like this he wasn’t behaving as though what Augus was doing was torture as he had when Augus had been gentle with him.

As important as it had been for Augus to make his point in that specific way, he wasn’t interested in doing it again for a while. It just hurt too much. It wasn’t only that it hurt Gwyn, but that it wriggled sickening into Augus’ heart and hurt him too.

This was familiar, it answered both of their appetites. Gwyn and his love of pain and following orders, Augus in giving them, in doling out hurt and pleasure and watching Gwyn shudder through both.

He slid a well-slicked finger into the tight heat of Gwyn without preamble and kicked his legs apart at the same time, kneeling between them, hooking Gwyn back into him with a hand on his shoulder and claw-tips threatening pressure points. Gwyn made an abrupt sound and then his head dropped forwards, his shoulders heaved for air.

He prepared Gwyn quickly. When he had two fingers inside of him, he curved them down and pressed unerringly against Gwyn’s prostate, and Gwyn –over-sensitive – sobbed out a noise of desperation before closing his mouth around it. Augus said nothing, felt a smug satisfaction as he did it again and again, until Gwyn lurched to get away and Augus only followed, pressing harder.

‘Let me,’ Augus said, and Gwyn shook his head, whined. ‘Let me, or I’ll wrap your cock up with so much waterweed you won’t be able to come for months.’

Gwyn was shaking his head, his elbows were trembling, and Augus jabbed mercilessly at his prostate until he made a sound that was pure pleading. A few seconds later, his elbows buckled and Gwyn went down to his forearms. It had the benefit of pushing his ass up more invitingly, making it easier to rub his fingers inside of him.

‘Oh, come now, it’s not so bad,’ Augus said, gleeful, and Gwyn growled in frustration, dropping his head where he’d lifted it, pressing his forehead to the floor.

‘You like this _too_ much,’ Gwyn managed, and Augus knelt up and withdrew his fingers, stretching the rim of him.

‘Just enough, I’d say,’ Augus murmured, slicking himself up, only needing a little of the lubricant to get himself coated. It stretched far. He didn’t like Gwyn’s multi-purpose armour-or-ass lubricant, he preferred his own. This was far better. ‘Let’s not forget you like it too.’

Gwyn moaned softly, helpless, a sound that was as much admission as it was denial and Augus patted him on the ass. He wound his fingers into Gwyn’s hair, pulling him up and back, forcing Gwyn back up to the palms of his hands.

Gwyn was still trying to find a way to make what Augus was doing comfortable when Augus thrust into him, pushing deep and bucking his hips up, closing his eyes at the feel of it. He paused for several seconds, steadied Gwyn’s hip with his other hand and waited as Gwyn adjusted, relaxed around him. And Gwyn did, surprisingly fast. When Augus shifted his hips in a smooth roll, Gwyn moaned, the sound all the louder for his head being forced up and his throat being so exposed.

Gwyn pushed his head back into Augus’ hand, and Augus massaged briefly, pleased, and then pulled his hair harder. Gwyn trembled beneath him, whimpered a small sound that was both disarmed and disarming. This was so much better than Gwyn flinching at everything. Augus had to hand it to him, he’d recovered from a great deal of that faster than he’d expected.

Augus experienced a moment of simply not wanting to move and he indulged it. He was outside of the Seelie Court, he was in a warded environment and at least temporarily safe, he was inside Gwyn and he liked that very much. For someone who had never been particularly interested in having clients for more than weekend, Augus was surprised to learn that when he liked someone, when he committed to them, he was not insufferably bored after all. And even though this was something he’d experienced before, even though Gwyn’s tightness around him, the fluttering of his internal walls, the way his body was sheened with sweat was all so _familiar,_ it was homecoming more than it was repetitive or unoriginal.

He savoured it in the way that he had been savouring more of the things in his life.

Augus let go of his hair and reached around his shoulder instead, leaning over his back, hooking himself into an embrace that allowed him press his chest to Gwyn’s back. He rolled his hips again. He couldn’t get quite as much leverage like this, but he could stay deep, he could start a rhythm that was more undulation than it was making Gwyn feel the full length of him and that was good too.

He started moving slowly, knowing that if he went too fast Gwyn might be too over-stimulated to come again. And Gwyn moaned intermittently between him, the soft, lingering sounds coming at unexpected moments. Augus couldn’t predict them, he realised that the sounds weren’t connected to what Augus was doing so much as the closeness, the sensation of it all. It was his breathing that let Augus know when he was on the right track and Augus followed that, the hitches and the pauses and then the long, shaky exhales, the pleasing sharp inhales.

Augus made a loose circle around Gwyn’s cock so he could tell when he was getting hard again, and then he undulated and felt like he was moving underwater, rocked in the deep currents of his lake. It felt shockingly good, and for several seconds he had to redirect his arousal so that he wouldn’t come too soon. Gwyn had ruined him, it used to be a lot easier to simply hold off coming whenever he wanted. But everything with Gwyn was immersive and if he didn’t concentrate, his body only wanted to lose himself in scents of iron and other metals, in the way Gwyn’s muscles rippled with each thrust forward, in the sound of him.

_Spend your entire life convinced that there’s no one in the world out there for you, and completely_ uninterested _in finding someone, and as soon as you meet some strange Seelie-Unseelie hybrid you lose yourself like a dumb romantic. Wonderful._

But it was, and Augus found himself chuckling under his breath, because it _was_ wonderful. His whole life was a mess, a wreckage of a mess, and yet this was...

Augus sped up anyway, chasing his own pleasure, holding it away from himself, wanting to drown in it. He stroked Gwyn’s collarbone with his other hand and Gwyn groaned, warm and thick, beneath him.

‘I have...’ Gwyn gasped, ‘other cabins we can do this in.’

Augus felt himself smiling unbidden.

‘Do you want to remember me in _all_ of them, then?’

_‘Yes,’_ Gwyn said, and Augus squeezed his eyes shut as he moved more insistently, dragging Gwyn along into his second erection.

He was almost certain that Gwyn had no idea how much he revealed of his feelings for Augus. For so long he looked with eyes that were too earnest, he _gazed,_ he exposed some raw nerve in himself and this was no better. It was bittersweet that Gwyn could give so much and still believe this all to be so unequal.

The noises Gwyn made became more helpless as he hardened in Augus’ hand. And Augus chased Gwyn’s arousal, pushing him quickly towards his second orgasm, using the tricks he’d learned over the months. Fingers stimulating the head of his cock, his other hand offering long, firm caresses to ground him, and of course his own cock undulating inside of him, grinding his hips on the downstroke making sure that Gwyn felt him deep, that he wouldn’t be able to escape the feel of him. He was almost certain he’d ruined Gwyn for any other fae’s cock, but it was always good to be on the safe side.

Gwyn fell apart before he did, defaulting to half-formed pleas and then simply saying Augus’ name in a way that did nothing to help Augus hold back his own release. He lifted up from Gwyn’s chest, gained more leverage, worked his length into Gwyn with a firm, grinding pressure that had Gwyn back down onto his forearms and gasping out rich, lost noises beneath him.

‘Any time you’re ready,’ Augus panted.

Gwyn’s cock started pulsing in his fingers, not coming yet but so _close,_ and Augus groaned at Gwyn’s responsiveness, rewarded him by speeding up. He found a rhythm that was stimulus enough for his own cock, laughed on a rush of breath, because what a novelty to not have to be so in control all the time, to balance out his need for dominance and power and control with this heady, thrilling offering.

He spilled before Gwyn and Gwyn tumbled right after him as Augus groaned softly, repeatedly through his own release. Augus pressed his lips to Gwyn’s shoulder, bit a mark into his flesh, another, while riding out his sharper, jerkier movements.

He withdrew while Gwyn was still trembling, looked down between them, watching where he pulled free, pushing two fingers into Gwyn and pressing down directly on his prostate. Gwyn jerked and grunted like he’d been punched in the gut, and then whined, falling slowly to the floor, curling on his side, forcing Augus to withdraw.

‘Cruel,’ Gwyn gasped, and Augus shrugged. Of course he was cruel.

He wiped his fingers off on Gwyn’s body and Gwyn made a sound of discontent that only made Augus focus on doing it more. Gwyn grumbled at him, but didn’t move. There was a mess of come by his side, spattered on the floorboards.

‘Well,’ Augus said. ‘No trows to clean that up.’

‘You always talk when I’m too tired to make you stop,’ Gwyn said sleepily.

Augus rolled him over onto his back and straddled him, pressing both of his palms down into his chest and staring.

‘You’re terrible at making me stop talking.’

Gwyn furrowed his brows at him.

‘You were a terrible King.’

Augus’ mouth dropped open, and then Gwyn flicked the smallest grin at him, still toothy, and pushed himself upright and pushed Augus off, standing up. Augus couldn’t decide what shocked him more, Gwyn’s _daring_ when it was obvious that he was still shaky on his feet from being very well fucked, or the fact that he’d made a joke Augus was sure _someone_ would have found funny.

Gwyn turned down to him and held up a hand.

‘Come, there’s a river nearby that’s also warded.’

Augus let himself be drawn upright, picking up his shirt and his belt. Gwyn did the same, gathering his clothing to himself. As they walked out of the cabin, Gwyn turned to Augus and offered him a faint smile that was more in his eyes than his mouth.

‘I’m not quite _that_ terrible at getting you to shut up, Augus.’

Digging his fingers into milder pressure points at Gwyn’s shoulder was well worth the squawk of indignant pain that followed.

*

The river was so brisk and the current so fast that Augus decided it wasn’t worth lingering. He preferred the still waters of lakes, and besides, he could feel that this water wasn’t _his._ He wasn’t sure who it belonged to, but there were faint hostile strings of energy swirling about. This part of the river might be warded, but some of it certainly belonged to a fae that was hostile to Unseelie. He cleaned himself off, hopping out nimbly and squeezing water from his hair, watching as Gwyn cleaned himself thoroughly – seemingly unbothered by the frigid cold of it, except that his nipples were tight pebbles on his chest and his muscles shivered every now and then.

Augus was dressed already when Gwyn stepped out and shook water out of his hair. Gwyn didn’t have the benefit of water wicking fabric like Augus, so he simply flicked wetness off himself with his palms and then pulled his clothing on while water still clung onto him in droplets. There was a hastiness in the way he dressed that made him wonder how often Gwyn had done this on campaigns and battle tours, he seemed unbothered by his damp clothing.

Watching the beads of water on his arms and shoulders disappear under his shirt, Augus suddenly wanted to drag Gwyn down underwater, to wrap strong arms and waterweed around him and instead of teleport him into his home, force him into the depths and watch his lungs work for air. It stole the breath from his own throat and he gasped softly.

But then Gwyn was beckoning him over and he pushed aside thoughts of hunting and drowning and watching Gwyn struggle in the depths under all that water pressure. He would only let him breathe at the very last moment, or even a bit beyond that, after Gwyn had fallen unconscious and had lost all faith that Augus would let him breathe again.

*

Gwyn dragged him down to sit between his legs, while he leaned back against one of the silver oaks near his cabin. He had both of his arms slung around Augus’ torso, and his legs were slightly bent. The bow and arrows were by his side, forgotten. Every now and then his head would bow and Augus would find lips pressed lightly, closed but soft, into his skin.

It was disgustingly sweet.

He’d squirmed at first to get away, but Gwyn had showed his quiet, constant strength, blocking him at every turn. Augus realised he’d _really_ have to fight him, and became sure that he _really_ wouldn’t win if he did.

He slumped back into Gwyn’s chest with a huff of dissatisfaction, and Gwyn had pulled his damp hair aside and smiled into his neck, his arms strong bands around him, the very strength of him making Augus shiver.

Augus’ senses prickled and he felt a strange shift in the energy around them. He couldn’t quite tell what it was and one of his hands drifted down to the forest floor, trying to discern it. He thought it was another fae, perhaps, but he couldn’t be sure. It was warm and subtle, and he couldn’t pick the locus of it.

A moment later he looked up in shock at the sound of animals moving through the undergrowth. A pair of foxes first, one yiffing at them loudly before they both scampered off together into brush. And behind them a small herd of deer. They came remarkably close, and Augus stared at them, wondering if there was some other fae nearby. Perhaps an animal caller. They were rare, but they were more likely to be Seelie, and it was possible that-

‘Hush,’ Gwyn said quietly. ‘I’m doing it.’ 

‘You’re _what?’_

Several of the deer startled at Augus’ voice, and two turned and trotted slowly away. The others stayed, watching and wary, not paying as much attention to Augus as they were to _Gwyn._

‘Be quiet,’ Gwyn said. ‘You’ll frighten them.’

‘You’re frightening _me,’_ Augus hissed, trying to turn in Gwyn’s grasp to stare at him, finding himself imprisoned in his arms. He had no idea that Gwyn could do this. _None._ And it wasn’t as though the Unseelie Court didn’t have intelligence on Gwyn. He’d been a soldier and a respected war general for thousands of years. The Raven Prince had run point on Gwyn many times, and Augus had done it again when he’d had the power to send others out to gather information on him.

Gwyn should not have been able to Call. Not like this. Augus looked up in shock at the sound of birds gathering in the branches above them. They all stared down, curious, and he shuddered at the sight of a pair of ravens, tearing his eyes away immediately.

Hedgehogs ambled towards them through tetterwort and celandine, their spiny backs rippling.

Not just a Caller then, but one who could cover a breadth of animals all at once. That was what Augus had felt swirling beneath him in the earth.

‘It’s not frightening,’ Gwyn said calmly. ‘They won’t hurt you. They’re just curious. They usually don’t come any closer.’

‘By the gods,’ Augus breathed, suddenly realising what this and Gwyn’s terrible, awful power combined meant. ‘By the gods you’re _classless_ fae. How long have you been classless for?’

Gwyn stiffened and suddenly the energy swirling out beneath them banked slightly.

‘I’m not classless,’ Gwyn said.

‘You know as well as I do that the only fae that are supposed to be able to Call like this, aside from the animal callers, are classless fae! How long have you been able to do this?’

Gwyn was silent for a long moment.

‘I’m not classless,’ he said, stubbornly.

‘How long?’ Augus repeated, settling back against Gwyn reluctantly when it became obvious that Gwyn wasn’t going to let him see the expressions on his face.

‘Since I was a child,’ Gwyn said. ‘I’ve kept it secret. It’s mine. It belongs to me.’

His voice was small as he said it, and Augus sighed explosively.

‘You _read_ copiously, you _know_ it is a trait of fae most likely to become classless. That plus your power, you _must_ have had an idea.’

‘No,’ Gwyn said. ‘No, _no!_ If I was classless, I would have been able to _stop_ ev-’

A moment of stillness between the two of them. Augus’ eyes widening in realisation, and Gwyn realising what he’d been about to say, no doubt. The silence stretched, but Augus couldn’t bring himself to follow the subject any longer, knowing where it must ultimately lead. Still, he tucked the knowledge into his heart with something like awe, wondering what the fae world might think to know that another classless fae lurked amongst them, ruled an alignment.

Gwyn relaxed in increments against the tree once more, and then after several moments the power strengthened again and several of the deer came closer. One – a young buck – came close enough that Augus could hear him whuffling through his long nose, scenting the both of them.

Gwyn’s words echoed in his mind: _I’ve kept it secret. It’s mine. It belongs to me._

He didn’t need to ask if Gwyn had ever shown this to anyone else, he already knew the answer. He swallowed. It was too much suddenly. Too much affection, too much _niceness,_ and it was far too sweet. He twitched his foot at the buck, startling it. The buck withdrew, exhaling in surprise, but stayed close.

‘No,’ Augus said, aware his voice was petulant. ‘Send them away. This is trite.’

‘Is it?’ Gwyn said, his voice far gentler than it had been before.

_‘Yes.’_

One of Gwyn’s arms became a hand stroking at his torso.

‘Ignore them. They’ll leave on their own.’

The energy swirling beneath them stopped, and Augus couldn’t bring himself to be sorry. He felt unexpectedly overwhelmed, aware that they’d have to go _back_ to the Seelie Court sooner rather than later. This taste of freedom was an _illusion_. Gwyn’s love for him was a weight he wasn’t sure he could carry, and his own feelings for Gwyn were...

His lips thinned but he stayed as relaxed as he could, appreciating the touch against his side, the languid way Gwyn stroked him. It reminded him of how fae could touch their pets and their animals, but Augus didn’t mind. He was a waterhorse, tactile motions lulled him. He didn’t want his own thoughts and they were rippling through him, the surface of his mind disturbed.

Gwyn slid his hands under Augus’ shirt once the deer had left, and Augus inhaled slowly at the feel of Gwyn’s broad palms encircling his waist. Calloused fingers slid up to his chest, resting, pressing him close.

‘Augus Each Uisge,’ Gwyn said, sounding oddly formal.

‘Demoting me again?’ Augus said, joking.

‘I, Gwyn ap Nudd,’ Augus stiffened in his grip, eyes flying open, ‘bequeath to you the power of invisibility, hard won. Use it well.’

It was a rush of cold, liquid energy that slid into his chest, turning his temperature to ice. Augus choked. The new power was trying to blend with his existing ones. An internal struggle, the silvery grey threads of Tigbalan’s gift of invisibility battling to infest and invade the green, murky pool of his own power, the shining emerald centre of it. Gwyn’s arms tightened as Augus’ spine arched, his fingers cramped as they splayed.

He shook hard, his jaw ached as his teeth chattered.

The battle continued for several minutes. Gwyn smoothed hair back from his face with one hand, keeping the other wrapped tight around him. Augus’ eyes rolled back into his head. Sensations that were too intense to be pain wracked him.

His body rebelled against the power, responding to it like it was a poison, and his lungs tried to heave for air as his throat threatened to close. He scratched at a forearm until it was hot and wet, couldn’t help himself as he saw silver firing off behind his eyelids, coiling and spiralling inside of him.

Eventually the green inside of him rose up, calm and inexorable, drowning the power. It absorbed it, turned it first into green bolts of lightning behind his eyes, until even that was transformed into something liquid and gentle. Augus gasped raggedly and went limp as he felt the power become his own. And in that moment he knew how to use it, knew where it sat inside his body and mind, knew the shape of it.

He sagged back against Gwyn, who held him close, didn’t seem to care that his forearm around Augus’ chest was trickling blood.

_I’ll need to bathe again, just wonderful._

‘Are you alright?’ Gwyn asked.

‘You...could have _warned_ me,’ Augus coughed, and Gwyn said nothing for several breaths.

‘I didn’t go through all that I went through, for you to keep rejecting it. It is meant to be _yours._ My centre isn’t justice, I’m not the person who should be punishing you for the crimes you’ve committed, even though I have...many times. I don’t want you in the Seelie Court, Augus.’

‘How did you even keep it in you for so long? It was feral,’ Augus said, his voice hoarse.

‘I don’t know,’ Gwyn said, shrugging. ‘But it wasn’t meant for me, perhaps that is why.’ 

Augus stayed silent after that, waiting for equilibrium to find him again. He felt as though a meteor had dropped into the lake of his mind. He just needed the water to settle, he would feel less nauseous soon, he knew. He breathed slowly, waited for ill currents to stabilise, appreciative of Gwyn petting him with a free affection that he’d _never_ shown in the Seelie Court before. And then it occurred to him that only two hours ago, Gwyn had been in a sour, bleak, despairing mood, and now here he was...completely different.

‘You need to leave the Court more often. Queen and Kings do it, you know. You aren’t as beholden to your Court as you think.’

‘That’s not what Albion says.’

‘Do I look like I care what Albion says?’ Augus said. He supposed he didn’t look like he much cared about anything, lying limp with his eyes closed, sprawled against Gwyn’s torso. ‘And you don’t leave nearly enough. Look at you. Can you not see the difference?’

Gwyn said nothing, stroked his thumb over Augus’ cheek and smeared away tears he couldn’t remember shedding. The strain his body had gone through to accept Tigbalan’s power had been painfully intense.

‘You’re in danger,’ Augus said.

‘I know.’

‘I’m not the only one who needs to leave that Court.’

A long space of silence between them, and Augus had just opened his mouth to say something else when Gwyn said:

‘I know.’

Augus waited.

‘I don’t know quite what to do,’ Gwyn said. ‘I can’t cede the Kingship. I’ve _tried._ Self-demotion doesn’t work. And of course now...Crielle would work any demotion to her favour.’

‘She’d kill you,’ Augus said flatly. ‘She thinks you killed Efnisien, I daresay that long-lost sense of Seelie honour she has is awake and demanding retribution.’

Gwyn sighed and just like that, it seemed like reality drifted back to both of them. Gwyn had tensed behind him, and Augus didn’t want to be out here anymore. The idea that he had to return to the Seelie Court, feel that energy abrading his spirit, his nature, was one that he thought he might resist with an actual escape attempt if he contemplated it for too much longer. And though he was glad of this new power, a chance to use it; he was reluctant to leave without knowing what Gwyn’s fate would be.

Folly though that might be. Besides, he would still technically be the Seelie Court’s prisoner even if he escaped. Gwyn’s power as King had ensured that when he’d verbally announced Augus’ capture, he remained the only one who could officially release him from the custody of the Seelie Court.

Augus pushed himself up to stand, only to find Gwyn sliding a hand underneath his arm and helping him. He started to push away, and then realised he was shaky on his legs.

After a minute he had his feet, and Gwyn moved away from him, picking up his bow and arrows, one forearm still dripping blood. They began walking away from the cabin, following the meandering river. It was obvious that Gwyn knew they had to leave, but he seemed reluctant to do more than simply give the idea that they were moving with purpose.

Augus stared up at the sky. The actual sky, not some Unseelie or Seelie Court fiction. It was azure and bright, the sun was real and prickled at his skin.

It was as they passed a lake surrounded by sedges that Augus felt himself unexpectedly crushed by circumstance. He staggered to a halt and wrapped an arm around his chest, staring at the still surface of the lake, face twisting with a mixture of derision and anguish. He’d thought it was such a good idea at the time, getting out of the Seelie Court, but _now..._

‘Is it the invisibility?’ Gwyn said, crouching beside him immediately.

Augus realised he’d sunk to his knees. He shook his head.

Gwyn looked in the direction that Augus was looking, and then placed tentative fingers on his back.

‘Is it...that you miss him?’

_Ash. By the gods it shouldn’t hurt this much, it’s not like we haven’t been distant for_ years.

But distance wasn’t absence. Augus hadn’t seen him for months, and the display didn’t count, he refused to count it. And the last time he’d seen him, Ash had taken those shadows and he, he’d-

_He didn’t know what he was doing. He had no idea what he was doing. He couldn’t have possibly known._

He shrugged off Gwyn’s hand when it started to become an embrace, not wanting something so paltry as comfort in the weight of whatever was keeping him on his knees.

After a few minutes of staring at the lake, he rocked back on his heels and took several deep breaths. That had been unexpected, but perhaps the storm of the new power had upset more than just his equilibrium, had tossed up things he’d hidden in the silt of himself.

‘I hope one day he understands what you sacrificed for him,’ Gwyn said, heavy.

It was a flash of sudden rage. Augus was halfway through backhanding him when his wrist was caught in a tight grip.

They stared at each other.

‘I don’t _want_ him to understand,’ Augus snarled.

‘I want him to understand,’ Gwyn said implacably.

They stared at each other for a minute before Gwyn let go of his wrist. Augus lowered it awkwardly to his side. He turned to the lake again, aching for his _home,_ his home which he’d abandoned years and years ago, which was likely overtaken now and gone. He’d had all his herbal stocks in there and ingredients he’d collected over hundreds of years, gifts from clients and the whole house designed to be a haven for him and Ash both. A place where they’d grown up together. The lake he’d been _born_ in.

His breath came faster, and this time he couldn’t bring himself to shrug off Gwyn’s hand as it rested between his shoulders.

‘I don’t want to go back,’ Augus said, voice shaking. ‘Why can’t you release me now? I have the invisibility.’

_I could do so much more to get you out of that Court, if I wasn’t_ in _it. And I could see Ash and tell him that I’m...different, changed, better,_ something.

‘Because it’s not yet time,’ Gwyn said.

Augus turned to him, wanting to see whatever odd tone he’d heard in Gwyn’s voice. But instead he saw a pained expression, the way Gwyn’s brows were twisted up and together. His hair had dried into messy ringlets, he looked like some wild forest fae that had stumbled across a waterhorse. Not a King with his captive.

‘It’s not time,’ Gwyn said again.

‘Time? What do you mean not _time?’_

Augus straightened, readying himself to argue, when something else occurred to him. He looked up at Gwyn, something oddly still about him.

‘There’s...you’re waiting on something else, aren’t you? There’s...more to this plan, than what you just transferred to me. What is it?’

‘I can’t tell you,’ Gwyn said. ‘It may be nothing. And if it’s nothing, if it doesn’t come to pass, I shall release you. And if it is something, I shall release you. Until I know, either way, you must stay. But...’

Something tortured passed over Gwyn’s face, was gone in a second. And then the indifference was back. The face he wore when he bore the weight of his Court.

‘But you should pack,’ Gwyn said. ‘You should...ready yourself. For they will come for you when you’re free, and you’d best be as prepared as you can. And...practice that new power of yours. Learn it.’

Gwyn walked towards him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Augus stared up at him, mind desperately scrambling to remember this forest, the cabin, the river, even the stupid deer and Gwyn’s stupid belief that he wasn’t a powerful, classless fae when he clearly _was._

‘Is it because I’m Unseelie?’ Augus said, staring at him. ‘You had to slaughter all those fae that went mad. You were promoted to a Court you didn’t want. You went through all that effort to capture me. This can’t all be because you _like_ me. You’re not _that_ foolish.’

Gwyn’s face twisted, and he tore his eyes away from Augus’.

By the time they’d arrived back in the Court, energy scraping at all of Augus’ cells, Gwyn’s face was indifference once more, and he left immediately after. Augus thought of going after him, but he needed time to be alone and shakily made his way back to the lake that wasn’t his, would never be his, was only some taunting reminder of all he’d lost.

He screeched in outrage as he tore at the foliage with his claws, stopping only when his hands were green with sap and his mind throbbed with the distressed energy of the plants around him, his harsh breathing sounding around him.

He felt he could understand why Gwyn was sometimes determined to destroy things with his sword. But Augus only had his hands, and he turned them on the lake he’d transformed with a vindictive fury.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, 'Invisible:' 
> 
> ‘Look at you,’ Augus said, expression clearing from his face. ‘Look at how scared you are. It’s not nice sitting by someone’s bedside is it? Waiting for them to wake up. Wondering if they’ll be alright.’


	33. Invisible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No new tags.
> 
> *
> 
> A massive thank you to everyone who is reading, commenting, kudosing, bookmarking, subscribing, sending me asks over at Tumblr! You are all SO great. 
> 
> Also, the next chapter update will be coming to you from England! (I live in Western Australia). So fingers crossed the wifi works where we're staying, because actually the next _four_ chapters are coming to you from England, heh.

The lake had been destroyed.

It had been reduced from the glory it had become, then reduced further from the simple aesthetic lake it had once been. The trows who had reported this ‘damage of property’ to him also told him there seemed to be poison floating in the lake, that it was caustic to their eyes. They signed apologies in their haste to explain that this was why the room had not yet been remade whole.

Gwyn told them to leave it, to bar off the lake.

It made him feel heavy, but he didn’t spark with rage. He knew what it was to need to unleash oneself against one’s environment. He knew that captivity was captivity, regardless of how pretty or nice it looked.

The next time he saw Augus in the kitchens, Augus watched him warily and Gwyn simply shrugged.

‘It was yours to do with as you see fit. We cannot neutralise the poison though.’

Augus’ nostrils flared, his eyes flashed.

_‘Good.’_

Gwyn nodded, took up some bread from the counter. After all this time he still felt like he needed to leave a note so that the housekeep at the An-Fnwy estate wouldn’t be punished or blamed for his transgression. It wasn’t a transgression at all. He wasn’t in the estate anymore. The trows made the bread specifically for him, knowing his grazing habits. He broke the roll open and dug the soft bread out first.

He offered a very small wave to Augus as he left, indicating that everything was alright between them.                                                                                                        

He was no fool. How many times had he escaped the Seelie Court to try and find some peace, only to realise how much worse things would be when he came back; precisely because he _had_ to come back? He hadn’t thought it was affecting Augus in such a manner. Seeing him collapse by the lake had been eye-opening.

Augus appeared to handle captivity so well, but he was being crushed underneath it’s weight.

Gwyn wanted to hold onto him longer. Wanted to delay his release. But he didn’t think Ash was coming, and so he would give it another week and a half, he would double check with Ash, and then he would...

He would...

_I will release him._

The words felt like acid in the back of his throat. He kept expecting his conscience to flare up and remind him that it was _madness,_ that nothing good – _nothing_ – could come out of releasing him. The Seelie Court would find out. There would be consequences. He would likely be killed.

But while he was objectively aware of all of these things, he couldn’t bring himself to stop. He would accept the consequences when they came and own his decision.

The prospect of death hurt less than the prospect of not having Augus living within the same walls as he did, and the absurdity of that made him laugh at odd moments.

*

The next day he was in his own room, polishing up his armour. It helped him to think, was meditative. It gave him something faintly relaxing to do while he tried to determine what Crielle was up to.

It wasn’t just that she was looking for a position in his Inner Court, there was something else. But she’d altered since Efnisien had died. Her attitude and her motives seemed to have shifted. She was no longer content to simply threaten Gwyn’s death at irregular intervals, now she seemed to be actively working towards it. He didn’t know how he knew, only that his instincts flared with a strong flight or fight response whenever she looked at him hard when he was in his own Court. He trusted those instincts.

He thought her centre might even be shaken. It seemed impossible, but she had been very close to Efnisien and he’d underestimated how his death might affect her. Perhaps knowing that Gwyn had something to do with it – because he couldn’t exactly say that Augus did that of his own choosing without implying a lot of _other_ things that weren’t alright – had made it worse.

The more he turned it over in his head, the less clearly he saw the situation. That wasn’t like him at all. Normally his mind flashed insights at him, but in this he was blind.

He stood up and put his armour away, and it was as he was closing the cupboard door that he saw it. It had come out of nowhere, he’d sensed no one in the room.

Movement in the corner of his vision.

_Ambush!_

He reacted instinctively, stepping forward on braced legs and slamming the heel of his palm into chest of whatever it was, adrenaline racing through him, his mind screaming that there was an attack and that if the Seelie Court had been breached then Augus was in danger.

The figure flew through the air and landed with a crash into the wall, slumping down, curling over itself and groaning in pain.

Gwyn blinked the white rage of bloodlust out of his eyes, realised who it was.

‘Oh no, no, no, _no.’_

Gwyn skidded down onto his knees as Augus looked up at him with a lazy smirk on his face, distress painted throughout the tightness of his eyes. A moment later he coughed up a spray of blood. It splattered across Gwyn’s face.

He’d hit with enough force to cave in a sternum, ribs. He’d felt the crunch under his hand. He hadn’t...it hadn’t occurred to him...

He’d thought if Augus tried his invisibility, Gwyn would still be able to _sense_ him. Not _this._

‘I’ll get you help, hang on, stay here. Don’t move.’

Augus grinned a bloody mouth at him, rasped:

‘Got you, didn’t I?’

Gwyn teleported away and sprinted through a dense forest towards Pazhna’s abode, hoping she was home. She didn’t reside at the Seelie Court unless he required it of her, and he hadn’t for a long time. He forced himself to slow into a walk. Augus was only Capital fae, he could die from internal injuries. He could die from broken bones and blood loss. And Gwyn couldn’t bring Pazhna back to see him, she would never keep the secret of Augus’ condition from others – his healthy, glossy hair, the fact that he was no longer underfae.

But he had to do something.

He knew his face was set in the cold mask it always was. He’d learned it a long time ago on the battlefield. It hid fear, distress, anything that he needed hidden. He knocked politely on her door, waited at the top of her wooden steps, surrounded by the smell of pine, branches so thick that they hardly moved in the wind. It was evening – he hadn’t realised. She could be out. She could be entertaining. She could be _anywhere._

She opened the door, surprise and then concern mingling across her features. She was dressed casually, jeans and a bright orange shirt, and she wore a green necklace around her neck, the sign that she was a green healer. She had black skin, her hair tightly curled and short. Her eyebrows knotted.

‘You’re not injured, but you have blood on your face. Your Majesty, what is wrong? Please tell me.’

‘May I come in? I need your help.’

She waved him in and Gwyn saw herbs and drying items hanging from the ceiling, scented sulphur and what could have been ground metal. Items woven from wicker and string hung on one wall beside modern appliances. Pazhna was innovative, she had stethoscopes, a blood-pressure monitor, human thermometers altered for fae species.

Gwyn stared, hoped something there might help him.

‘I was in a session with Augus, interrogating him, and I may have gone too far. I think he may die from his injuries. Do you have anything for rapidly repairing bone? I would take you to him directly, but I do not think it would be...it would reflect well on me, for you to see him as I have made him.’

Pazhna immediately walked into her kitchen and started opening cabinets, drawing out ingredients.

‘Your Majesty, is he still conscious?’

‘Perhaps,’ Gwyn said.

He’d asked Pazhna countless times not to call him by his title, and she’d consistently and steadily refused to listen to him. Most healers had a reputation for being stubborn and wilful, and she was no exception.

‘He’ll need to be conscious for this to work. So you’re hurting him are you?’

She paused for several seconds and then tossed a bag of something dried and green onto the counter. There was something in her pause that made Gwyn realise that she would not be averse to Augus dying, and he clenched his hands by his sides. He trusted her, she _would_ heal him, but he couldn’t help but think that were he in the same situation, if he wanted Augus dead, he would simply give over a poison, eliminate Augus entirely then accept the consequences. Thankfully Pazhna was Seelie and not in the way his family were. Her sense of honour would not permit it, regardless of her personal thoughts.

She brought over a mortar and pestle and then changed her mind, picked up a blender instead, adding ingredients hurriedly.

_I told him to practice the power. I_ told _him to._

But Gwyn hadn’t realised he wouldn’t even be able to _scent_ Augus. Just how strong was that invisibility? He hadn’t even...his sixth sense hadn’t even told him that Augus was there.

_You told him to and now he’s likely dying in your bedroom. Very finely done. All that work to release him and he’s-_

Gwyn shut down all thoughts that weren’t relevant to what he was doing in this instant, and he watched Pazhna work. He could only do what he was doing. No more. He told himself that over and over again. Eventually his hands relaxed, though his breathing never calmed.

‘How fast will it work?’ Gwyn said, then schooled his voice. ‘I’d like to get back to my interrogation as soon as possible.’

‘Not that fast,’ Pazhna said. ‘But it will be quick, Your Majesty. About twenty four hours. Let him rest, and you’ll be able to get back to hurting him.’

Gwyn noted the way she said it, the slight quirk at the corner of her mouth. They hated Augus. So many of the fae just _hated_ him. Gwyn knew what that was like. Not in the same way, but he’d seen that expression on the faces of his family members, even on soldiers in the battlefield. He knew what it was to be hated.

Ten minutes later he held a corked bottle of something brown with flecks of white in it.

‘What do I owe you in payment?’

‘There’s some ingredients I’d like, Your Majesty. If you could apportion me the funds to get them...’

‘They’re yours,’ Gwyn said abruptly. ‘Good evening. I apologise for bothering you.’

‘No bother,’ Pazhna said. ‘Hurry, Your Majesty. If he’s not conscious, we’ll need more extreme measures.’

Gwyn teleported away, clutching the corked bottle to himself.

He stumbled back to Augus’ side, trying not to look too hard at the gout of blood that had painted his mouth, his chin, then flowed all down his front ruining yet another one of his shirts – _you are always ruining his shirts_ – and saw the limp way Augus’ hands were held in his lap. He felt the full weight of his fear press upon him but he forced it back, had to, because he couldn’t afford it now.

_Treat it like a battlefield, get through it._

Gwyn pulled Augus’ head up and then shook him. When nothing happened, Gwyn slapped him, measuring his strength so that Augus’ head rocked only slightly, so that no damage would be done.

Augus made a strangled sound in his throat. He shifted in a stilted, broken manner.

That was consciousness. Pazhna didn’t say _how_ conscious he had to be. Gwyn unstoppered the bottle immediately and tilted Augus’ head back with one hand, holding it still by weaving his fingers through his hair. With the other he forced Augus’ lips and teeth apart with one of his fingers and manoeuvred the bottle so that a small amount of liquid trickled into the bloody cavern of his mouth.

Gwyn pressed his hand over Augus’ mouth as he tried to cough it up, but he swallowed soon after.

‘You have to drink all of it, Augus. I don’t know if you can hear me, but it’s going to be okay. Have some more, I swear it will help.’

He didn’t know if Augus _could_ hear him, but it seemed when Gwyn tilted the bottle again, Augus alternated between coughing and working to swallow, and he seemed to be trying to get the liquid down. Gwyn realised just how much of it there was, it hadn’t looked like much in the bottle, but feeding it swallow by swallow was laborious.

Still, it had to be done, and he persisted until the thick liquid was gone. Some had dribbled out of Augus’ mouth, down his chin, stuck to Gwyn’s bloodied fingers, but the rest had been swallowed.

Gwyn didn’t know what to do. He needed to clean him up, to lie him down, to shift him, but he didn’t know when he could.

He placed his hand against Augus’ sternum, and then his eyes flew open when he literally _felt_ bone knitting itself back together again. He realised just how much damage he’d done and felt nauseous, shoved that away too. All of it, he could deal with all of that later. Right now he had to concentrate.

Augus’ breathing suddenly became deeper, easier. His ribs must have been settling back into place.

Gwyn waited twenty minutes until he could feel a vast lessening of movement in Augus’ sternum and risked lifting him, grunting at Augus’ dead weight. He felt like he was lifting Augus in his waterhorse form, and wondered if there was some bleed over when Augus was like this, if – somehow – he couldn’t control those aspects of himself and they crept through. It didn’t matter, he could manage, but Augus was far heavier than he appeared.

He lowered him carefully to the bed, wondered when it would be safe to take him to the shower to clean him up. Pazhna had said twenty four hours before he could start his ‘interrogation’ again. Some time in there, Augus would be well enough that Gwyn could clean him up, make sure he was okay.

He kept away the swell of emotion, turned the core of himself still and indifferent and cold.

It was harder than usual, but he managed. He maintained vigil, waited.

*

It was much later when Gwyn risked showering him. Augus didn’t wake, and Gwyn was careful about not scrubbing the dried blood on his face too hard; even though it meant it took longer. Augus’ chest was mottled with bruises, most of them black and opaque. But some of them were already turning yellow at the edges, and he hoped that meant Augus was recovering quickly. His chest felt stable, it didn’t feel like he’d crunched his hand into it.

He hadn’t thought it was _Augus._

He’d been ambushed enough times out in the field to know that if someone snuck up on him and he didn’t sense them, it was important to react with debilitating force. He’d saved the lives of his soldiers doing that. He didn’t think any differently within his palatial-rooms. He hadn’t sensed Augus. He _always_ sensed Augus. The only time he hadn’t was when Augus had been watching him work on his maps and Gwyn had dropped his guard because he already knew Augus was there. But Gwyn _never_ dropped his guard when he was on his own, and he-

_Stop this. Stop making excuses for what you did. You nearly killed him._

Gwyn winced, dried Augus off carefully, dressed him, lay him back in the bed and watched for another two hours to make sure the shower hadn’t upset or injured him further.

Later still he teleported to the trows. He felt out for where most of them were – in one of their recreation rooms underground – and when he teleported in he had to go down to his knees immediately because the ceiling wasn’t high enough for him. He still had to bow his head, and the trows milled around, anxious and worried. Some were immediately signing to him; _What is wrong? What do you need?_

‘Augus has been injured. I’ve already gotten Pazhna to assist, but I’m aware that you have wisdoms I don’t. Do you have anything for broken bones and bruising? And possibly...internal bleeding? A salve would be best, or a poultice. Something fit for a waterhorse.’

One of the trows came forward and his already wrinkled forehead wrinkled further.

He pointed firmly at Gwyn, signed; _Your own cupboard._

Gwyn rose up so quickly he hit his head on the ceiling. He hissed, rubbed his hand on the lump forming, he was an _idiot._

He had salves for all of those things!

‘ _Gramercie_ , I am always in your debt.’

He teleported away, cursing himself under his breath, flinging open his wardrobe as soon as he landed and drawing out salve after salve. He gotten them all for himself – had others he’d gotten for his soldiers – paid for them all, he’d _forgotten._ He’d hardly used them since becoming King, but had kept them all from the time he’d used them when he’d been Court. They’d held him in good stead on the battlefield, easing breaks, speeding healing. They’d cost a terrible amount; one in particular he didn’t use on himself unless he literally had to go back into battle within minutes. But...

He found the squat, fat jar and drew it out. It was nearly full – he’d hardly used it, preferring to heal from his breaks naturally, feeling – somehow – that he’d earned them and there was something of strength in holding on through the pain.

He hoped it would work on Augus. It should, it was all-purpose, designed for many species of fae. It had worked on an animal shifter before. It still smelled good, hadn’t turned rancid.

The bruises started to fade and then disappear under Gwyn’s ministrations. He kept the strokes gentle, was liberal with something he probably didn’t need to be liberal with. A little salve stretched a long way, but he didn’t care. He was thorough, moving to areas where there was no visible bruising. If it was bad enough that Augus had thrown up so much blood, it was possible there was damage even where he couldn’t see it.

It smelled of arnica on the surface, but was so much more than that, spells and rare ingredients woven in. It was faintly sweet without being sugary. Gwyn focused on the details, because a headache threatened and he wanted to distract himself. At some point he’d have to confront what he’d done. But he couldn’t. The implications of nearly losing Augus at his own hand...

_How many times will you try and kill him?_

The hunt. Leaving the gag on for too long – that hadn’t been a murder attempt but it had been unknowingly brutal. The force-feeding of the liver. Now this. 

Gwyn clenched his jaw together, tried to think of anything else. He was trying to release him, not trying to kill him, he hadn’t realised it was Augus, he hadn’t _thought._ And he didn’t realise Tigbalan’s invisibility was so complete. Invisibility like that – where he couldn’t even _scent_ Augus – that was dangerous. That was incredibly dangerous.

It was hard not to be aware that he’d given one of the world’s most powerful waterhorses one of the world’s best forms of innate invisibility. No wonder Tigbalan had asked for such a high, exacting price.

And Gwyn had nearly wasted it in a single punch.

He stopped applying the salve and screwed the lid back on, set it down. He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, forced himself into a doze. His mind was running away on itself, he was anxious. He wanted desperately to lie beside Augus on the bed, but he stopped himself. Augus would have a right to be angry with him. He wondered if Augus would be as angry with him as he was with himself.

*

‘Oh, I got you _good,’_ Augus laughed.

Gwyn snapped awake. His breathing already spiralling into something uneven and fear-filled. Augus’ smirk disappeared, he lifted both of his hands off his chest, he narrowed his eyes.

‘You nearly died,’ Gwyn said.

‘I know. But I didn’t die.’

‘I nearly killed you.’

‘Oh, that. Well, I’m used to that,’ Augus laughed again. ‘At least this time it was unintentional.’

‘You shouldn’t joke about these things!’ Gwyn’s voice was a shout, and he immediately slammed his teeth together, because now that Augus was awake, not dead, looking a little more pallid than usual but _okay,_ panic was pressing in on him from all directions. ‘You shouldn’t have crept up on me like that!’

‘Do you know how long I was in that room watching you?’ Augus breathed, a smug smile returning to his face. ‘This invisibility that you got me, oh _goodness._ I crept up on the trows. I crept up on _you._ It’s not bog-standard invisibility is it? Aren’t we all lucky that Tigbalan isn’t interested in leveraging himself up to some higher status? Goodness gracious, I think we’d all be screwed with this as one of his natural powers if he ever had designs on a throne.’

Gwyn was breathing quickly, horrified. He’d had no idea Augus was watching him. He’d had no idea how long it had been. How long had Augus been ghosting him for? When he asked Augus to trial the invisibility he’d _imagined_ that he’d somehow sense it. That he’d indulge Augus when he was invisible in the same room as him by pretending not to notice he was there.

‘Look at you,’ Augus said, expression clearing from his face. ‘Look at how scared you are. It’s not nice sitting by someone’s bedside is it? Waiting for them to wake up. Wondering if they’ll be alright.’

_It’s not the same._

‘I want you to take me into the Court,’ Augus said. ‘Properly. I want to test this with the people who want me dead.’

‘You’ve gone mad,’ Gwyn said. ‘You are...are you _mad?_ You only need to slip _once_ and it is over for the both of us! You don’t need to trial it more than you’re trialling it now! You don’t need any exposure to that Court and you are so close to your release. Why would you sabotage it?’

Gwyn’s breathing was harsh, he turned away to try and master it, but failed. He’d nearly killed Augus. In one moment he’d nearly ruined ev-

‘Gwyn,’ Augus said, pushing himself into a sitting position. ‘Gwyn, calm down. Face me. I’m fine. Aside from a faint ache, which is less than I’ve received from your _cock,_ I’m completely fine. I made a mistake. Will you _face_ me?’

Gwyn turned to him reluctantly, breathing unsteady. Augus was staring at him, eyebrows lowered. After several moments he opened his fingers, reached out with his hand.

‘Come along. Come along, by the gods you are exasperating. At least when you got yourself almost-murdered by Tigbalan I didn’t spend the entire time blaming _myself.’_

Gwyn didn’t take his hand, hovered his own above it, not quite touching. Augus reached up and grabbed it firmly, then shifted over on the blankets. Gwyn opened his mouth to tell him not to do that, to not force himself to move unnecessarily, but Augus pinned him with a fierce glare and simply tugged Gwyn down to the bed ungently when he’d made enough space.

‘Lie down,’ Augus said, his voice holding a thread of command.

Gwyn did, stiffly.

‘I made a mistake,’ Augus said again. ‘I wanted to surprise you. I forgot that you likely wouldn’t respond to that well, and it didn’t occur to me that you would react as though I was a threat, which was frankly stupid, because I should know better than to assume that you’d feel safe anywhere, even on your own.’

Gwyn could still hear his own breathing. When Augus reached out and touched fingers to his hair he jerked backwards, but Augus followed the motion, tangling his fingers and touching Gwyn’s scalp carefully, then firmly, massaging the side of his head.

‘I was trying to show off,’ Augus said, a smile entering his voice.

‘I nearly killed you.’

‘Yes. You did. Oh, this is tedious. I’m not repeating myself. If you have to self-castigate, you can kiss me while doing it. It’s a fair bargain.’

‘I’m sorry?’ Gwyn said, confused.

‘Kiss me,’ Augus said. ‘I’ve been through something traumatising.’

‘Augus, you...’

‘A trauma, Gwyn. Don’t you want me to feel better?’

‘You’re manipulating me,’ Gwyn said, as Augus shifted closer, fisted fingers into Gwyn’s shirt and tugged him in.

‘I’m always manipulating you. Now shut up and _kiss_ me.’

Gwyn leaned in, mouth closed, trembling faintly, and he was about to press his lips to Augus’, when Augus struck out and bit hard at Gwyn’s lower lip, drawing blood. Gwyn yelped and drew back, tasting copper. Augus smirked at him.

‘That’s for nearly killing me, you brute.’

Augus followed Gwyn’s backwards movement carefully, as though testing out his own body. But the more he moved, the more confident he seemed. He licked blood from Gwyn’s lip, and then drew his bottom lip into his mouth, using suction to draw more blood from it. Gwyn moaned faintly and Augus straddled him, rolled his hips down into Gwyn’s stirring erection with so much pressure that it hurt. Gwyn twitched and Augus laughed against his lips and did it again.

He ducked his head down and bit a mark into Gwyn’s neck, sucking hard.

‘This is that thing you do, isn’t it?’ Gwyn said faintly.

‘What thing?’ Augus murmured against his skin, lips sliding slick against saliva he’d already left there.

‘Where you try and get control over a situation by using dominance.’

‘Mm,’ Augus bit harder and Gwyn groaned. He’d broken skin again. Gwyn was bleeding and Augus was lapping at the blood – long, firm laves of his tongue that aggravated the pain of it, yet still caused fire to coil in Gwyn’s gut.

‘Lift your back and slide your arms underneath,’ Augus said against his skin. ‘Cross them at the wrist _.’_

Gwyn shuddered. He needed a minute to concentrate, his mind going blank under Augus’ ministrations. His lip throbbed, Augus was biting another wound into his chest.

He arched his back and slipped his arms awkwardly behind himself, crossing his wrists and flattening his palms so that they wouldn’t dig into his muscles any more than they had to. When he lowered himself back down, Augus lowered his chest to Gwyn’s and kept his arms imprisoned, lifting his mouth back to Gwyn’s and sliding his tongue inside, thrusting back and forth in claiming motions that left him writhing on the bed, one of his legs bending up, knee knocking against Augus’ side.

Augus reached out with an arm, stretched towards the drawer that held lubricant, then froze. He made a muffled sound of pain into Gwyn’s mouth and laughed softly as he dropped his arm back to his side.

‘Augus,’ Gwyn gasped, panicking. ‘Augus, are you-?’

‘Just a little twinge,’ Augus breathed. ‘I don’t know if I can fuck you like I wanted to. Ah, _damn_ it.’

Gwyn slid his arms out from behind his back and grasped Augus by the shoulders, pushed until Augus gave under the pressure, rolling slowly onto his back. His eyes were bright, though whether it was from pain or arousal or frustration, Gwyn didn’t know. He reached his hand down between them, palmed Augus’ cock, pressed down with slow and steady pressure, feeling it fill beneath his fingers. Augus’ lips thinned, his eyes closed, his hips bucked up. Gwyn started to put his other hand on Augus’ chest to hold him still, and realised he couldn’t. At the last moment he placed his hand on Augus’ shoulder, keeping him pinned to the bed.

‘Oh,’ Augus said, and a look of pure mischief came onto his face. ‘Oh, I _could_ fuck you, if you were willing to sit on it.’

‘I...’

_‘Yes,’_ Augus said, something dangerous on his face. ‘Strip. Slick me up. And you either open yourself up with your fingers first, or you sit on it without.’

Gwyn stared at him. He frowned.

‘Or I walk out of the room.’

‘Walk away, Gwyn. And instead I will fuck you while I’m invisible, and you _won’t_ best me next time. Now that I know how you’ll react. I can tie you up in waterweed and you’d never even _see_ it coming. Actually, that sounds good too. Please, walk away.’

Gwyn’s heart was pounding fast, though it hadn’t really ceased doing that since Augus had appeared in front of him in Gwyn’s room.

‘Do you know how much power you’ve given me?’ Augus purred. ‘It’s a _lot.’_

‘You’re mad,’ Gwyn breathed.

_‘Strip.’_

Gwyn felt the compulsion, though it slid off him and he was grateful for it. At least they weren’t affecting him anymore. He weighed his options and decided that he didn’t want Augus to ambush him again anytime soon. He licked at his dry lips as he stripped quietly, then reached into the drawer and drew out the lubricant. Augus snatched it off him even as he started to hand it over.

Augus lowered his pants carefully, careful of his chest.

‘You should rest.’

‘I won’t have to do much,’ Augus smiled to himself. He was becoming more jovial and Gwyn wasn’t sure if that was a good thing. He then offered the lubricant to Gwyn. ‘You should open yourself up or there will be quite a stretch.’

Gwyn stared at him, blank. He felt his face burning with heat and looked away. He couldn’t. He still couldn’t even put a hand on his cock in front of Augus without being compelled to. Augus _knew_ that.

‘Ah, well.’

Augus withdrew the lubricant and slicked himself up quickly, liberally, until his cock was glistening. He carelessly dropped the lubricant by his side, looking up at Gwyn with a raised eyebrow and expectation in every line of his body.

‘You generally have to position your hole over my cock for this to work.’

_‘Augus,’_ Gwyn said, and Augus laughed again, though the fullness of the sound was aborted and it became a quieter chuckle instead. It was obvious he was still in pain.

Gwyn had caused that. Unexpectedly he found that he _wanted_ to hurt, and that this...he would heal from this, and he could _do_ this.

He straddled Augus quietly, kept his eyes to the side, refusing to look as Augus lifted up and wrapped a hand around his own cock. Augus’ other hand moved to Gwyn’s hip and shifted him, moved him with small flexes of his fingers until Gwyn felt Augus slide between his legs, behind his balls, firming his grip until he nudged at Gwyn’s entrance.

‘Are you sure?’ Gwyn said, thinking of Augus’ chest.

‘I should be asking you that. But I don’t care to. I want to see the look on your face. Go on, lower yourself. Breathe out, it will help. Somewhat.’

Augus started pulling Gwyn down slowly with his other hand, not yet letting go of his cock. The lubricant was cold and Augus hot and hard beneath it, applying pressure upwards. Gwyn hissed, he hadn’t even started to stretch yet, but he normally only experienced things like this when he was so drunk he could hardly feel anything at all.

And then he felt it – Augus pushing in, how tight he was in response to the invasion. He didn’t make noise at all then, fell completely to silence.

_‘Breathe,’_ Augus reminded him.

He gasped softly, held his breath once more until Augus pinched at the skin of his thigh to remind him.

There was a sting that threatened to be a great deal more, and Gwyn thought about how he would heal, how he had nearly killed him, and something feral rushed through him and he lifted himself slightly and then bore down with a sudden-

-Only to find himself halted by Augus digging both hands hard into his hips and glaring at him.

‘Don’t you _dare.’_

Gwyn shuddered, wanted to obey, wanted to punish himself, was confused. Didn’t Augus want that? But Augus was holding him still. Even so, Gwyn had managed to force himself down to the point where the head was inside of him. Pain radiated through him. Mild but noticeable.

He wanted to tip forwards and place his hands on Augus’ chest, instead he placed them by his sides, breathing harshly.

‘I thought that’s what you wanted,’ Gwyn said.

‘That’s what _you_ wanted, twit. You’re the one who wants to rip yourself apart. I just want it to hurt a bit. The two are very different. And don’t look at me like they’re not. Just hold still, let me show you.’

Augus was using considerable strength to keep Gwyn still, pushing bruises into his skin. He undulated shallowly beneath him, but even that was enough that he pushed deeper and Gwyn’s head tilted back. He felt full and stretched and Augus was still undulating beneath him. Working the lubricant through him, invading. Even those shallower movements felt like Augus was bullying his way inside. Gwyn’s own cock was jutting out in front of him, hard but not yet leaking. He didn’t like that Augus could see it, him, his face. _Everything._

‘Sink lower now, just a little.’

Augus encouraged him down, rolled his hips upwards and Gwyn cried out, and then caught the next one behind his lips, a pained hum.

‘Yes, this is very good,’ Augus said, voice rougher than before. ‘Perfect. Hold still again. Let me open you up for me. That’s it.’

It was slow, but acute. Gwyn was sure Augus had hit bottom long before he had, and the angle was one he’d never tried before. It rubbed against different parts of him, made everything feel more intense. He felt like he was being fucked again for the first time and he was dizzy with it. Between gasping for air and Augus’ smug encouragements, there was a sharp ache. He was leaking precome but dazed, he couldn’t seem to catch his breath.

When he was finally able to settle down on Augus’ hips properly, his thighs were trembling, he had multiple bruises on his hips where Augus had alternatively held him still, pulled him down, or eased him back up again when things were moving too fast. A round of small whimpers fell from his throat until he realised he was the one making the sound. He had his eyes closed, felt speared and owned by Augus.

And none of that was helped very much when Augus wrapped a hand too tightly around his cock and _squeezed._

Gwyn fell forwards and Augus braced him with his other arm, letting go of his hips entirely and using the hand now on his shoulder to lower him down, lean up until he could thrust his tongue between Gwyn’s slack lips. Gwyn felt pinned like this, hardly able to move, and he cried out softly into Augus’ mouth, wishing that everything were just a little less intense. The hand on his cock was unforgiving, and when Augus pumped his hand up and down once, unrelenting on the pressure, Gwyn had to tear his mouth away and pant, body twitching.

‘Perfect,’ Augus said again, and that word directed at him dizzied him. He could hardly move.

Augus’ hips moved beneath him, grinding and then undulating, hardly moving back and forth, but still making room for himself, until Gwyn’s gasps were more like sobs and he bit his teeth into Augus’ shoulder, knowing he should be moving, that he should be rearing up above Augus like this was easy and not a problem. Instead he was locked in sensory overload, couldn’t remember how to do almost anything. Even breathing was too taxing.

‘It took you smashing your fist against my sternum and shattering it into pieces to make me into a limp wreck. But you, Gwyn. Just a cock and you’re quivering. Do you need first aid?’

Gwyn moaned. Augus had pressed his lips to his ear, pushed all the words inside. His voice reverberated through his head.

After that, Augus kept a punishingly tight grip on the base of Gwyn’s cock, refusing to let him come even though the desire for it was speeding through him long before Augus was ready for him to release.

Augus kept him pinned and hardly moved at all, sometimes only nudging him with his hips, other times withdrawing by pressing back into the bed, and then thrusting up so sharply that Gwyn saw flashes of stars, felt pain jabbing into his gut. And it was only later – far too much time having passed – pleas spilling from Gwyn’s lips and Augus hushing him and attempting to soothe him, that Augus began to relent.

He let go of Gwyn’s cock, began stroking it, and Gwyn felt his own release building inside of him. He chased after it, holding his light back as he hurtled towards it, then cried out in anguish when Augus’ hand tightened on him again.

‘Oh,’ Augus said, ‘my chest is feeling better. I guess we can drag this out a little longer.’

Gwyn begged him not to, and then he couldn’t manage anything except the fragments of words and pleas while Augus pulsed his hips to the point where Gwyn couldn’t remember Augus _not_ being inside of him. Time drifted by and he became aware of moaning continuously, words abandoned, feeling caught and stuck and forgetting how he’d even ended up in the position he was in.

He was incoherent when Augus finally released the painfully tight grip around the base of his cock and started stroking him rapidly, and he was only vaguely aware of wailing against Augus’ mouth when he spilled, his muscles contracting in sharp cramps as Augus spilled deep inside of him, holding him close. He couldn’t coordinate his lips for kissing, could barely remember how to open his eyes. And Augus kept one of his arms around Gwyn’s back, and the other had slid between them, making sure Gwyn didn’t rest his full weight on Augus’ chest.

‘It’s alright,’ Augus said, and Gwyn couldn’t think why he’d be saying that. ‘You just need some rest. Hm? Lie down and get some rest. Come on. Lift up. You remember how your legs work don’t you?’

Gwyn’s mouth fell open further as Augus withdrew, and he fell to the side of him, still catching his breath. Augus immediately reached over and smoothed his hair back from his face, traced the bridge of his nose, the shape of his lips.

‘There. I’m alright, you’re alright. You need some rest, we can talk about you smuggling me into the Court tomorrow.’

Gwyn had hardly any idea what he was talking about. He was fucked out, sore, throbbing, shivers of pleasure still moving through him. He only just remembered to switch his mind into a doze instead of sleep, and he was out like a light, convinced he could still feel Augus moving inside of him, not quite sure if he wanted the feeling to disappear.

*

Augus’ arguments to be let into the Court were compelling, but then Augus’ arguments were often compelling when he was making a case for himself. Gwyn listened, hardened off to folly and considered the merit of what Augus was suggesting.

In the end, Gwyn had demanded that Augus trial the invisibility for him, observing it for himself. Augus disappeared smoothly – though not easily, he said – and it was true, the invisibility not only took him away from sight, but stole him from the senses. It masked his scent, and Gwyn was privately amazed at how it simply faded from the room, as though Augus had truly left. It masked that energy between them, the one that excited the sixth sense and let Gwyn know that _someone_ was there. It even – Augus had explained – masked sound. One moment he was talking, the next his voice vanished. Augus said he simply had to will it, and it became as invisible as the rest of him.

And Augus could extend the invisibility if he wished. He demonstrated by moving a glass in Gwyn’s plain view, and then simply vanished it.

Gwyn stared.

Augus flickered back into view and Gwyn’s senses strained for him.

‘So you see, it is _very_ complete.’

‘To me, perhaps. But you cannot be sure it will be so to all species,’ Gwyn said.

But Gwyn attained the invisibility precisely so that Augus could move unmolested around groups of fae.

Augus flickered out again while Gwyn was thinking, and Gwyn startled when he felt a hand on the side of his face, another on his upper arm.

So it didn’t mask tactile sensation. Gwyn shivered, because there was no scent here, no eyes to look into or look away from, nothing. He looked down, there was no one standing in front of him. And when the hand on his face caressed him, he shook his head slightly.

Augus ignored it, pressed fingers into his mouth. He left them there lazily on his tongue, eventually drumming his fingers on it, getting him to move and lick him.

Gwyn did, but absently.

One of his hands came up and bumped gently into the side of Augus’ body. But he wasn’t _there,_ and Gwyn tightened his hand around Augus’ waist but it could have been anyone. There wasn’t any scent. There wasn’t any Augus to look at.

It felt like years of stolen half-fantasies where Gwyn had tried for a handful of seconds to pretend that somebody might want to touch him like this, and ultimately failed to sustain the daydream because he just couldn’t imagine it. And now he was being touched, but it pained him, reminded him of years of being alone in a room, wondering how other people got the sort of things that they got – companionship, affection, touch – and then coldly reminding himself that he didn’t, had _never_ needed it.

He drew back from Augus and then moved away from him, standing, shaking his head.

He could tell Augus had reappeared behind him, because he could sense him again, scent him again.

‘I thought it could be fun,’ Augus said, but his voice was quiet.

‘It’s not fun.’

‘It _could_ be fun.’

‘It is _not.’_

A long pause, and Gwyn turned to Augus, his eyes hungry to remind himself that Augus was present. His took in his body, from his boots to the top of his head, looking avidly in a way he didn’t normally, committing him to memory. Augus’ eyes were serious as he watched, his lips were pursed, as though he were trying to figure something out.

But then he simply exhaled a deep breath, and shrugged.

‘If I am careful – and I _can_ be careful – this could work. Although...I admit I’m concerned that I can still be Read.’

Augus said the words carefully, but Gwyn still felt his skin prickle at the mention of Readers, of Reading. Still, he focused on Augus’ concern and had to agree. Readers were not quite like empaths or other types of fae that sensed energy. However, it didn’t bother him overmuch.

‘I never trained any Readers up to my Court and they don’t often visit. If you came to Open Court, where I see one fae at a time, and each one is vetted before they emerge, that could...’

Augus’ eyes brightened. Gwyn glared at him.

‘I’m not promising _anything.’_

*

And that was how Gwyn ended up in Open Court, listening to the grievances of the fae, having no idea where Augus was, if he was still there, if he’d wandered off. He couldn’t feel him in the room, and so far no one else had been able to either. Gwyn sat in his throne, quietly loathing it because it was _uncomfortable_. That was bad enough. Was it so hard to make a throne comfortable?

He took audience with a variety of fae. Some he only needed to see for ten minutes, usually those asking for status upgrades and appealing to save their homes, save their families. Some lasted far longer. There was one fae – a lotus-Mage – who came from a mixed family of Seelie and Unseelie, appealing once more for Augus to be killed. She had lost family, their river had never recovered. Listening to her talk about thousands of years of generations stopped in their tracks made Gwyn feel weary and sad as it always did. He privately hoped that Augus was nearby, listening. Gwyn had been hearing these appeals for a long time now.

Half a day passed, Gwyn listening to each appeal and meting out justice as best as he could, listening to ‘Your Majesties’ and ‘Seelie Kings’ and ‘Wise Ones’ and wondering if Augus was there laughing at them all. He couldn’t tell.

But as long as he couldn’t tell, others likely couldn’t. No one seemed aware that anyone else was in the room.

Of course that was because Augus might not be, Gwyn had no idea.

He was about to retire when Crielle and Albion entered, closing the giant double doors behind them with a clang. Albion was smartly dressed in a white suit with a navy shirt and collar, navy belt, navy pin of a whale breaching. Crielle was wearing a pale blue that set off her eyes – not that they needed it – in a tailored dress that plunged at her neckline, showed off her arms, her legs. Her hair was piled atop her head, loose curls escaping. She wore beneath it golden sandals, though Gwyn had always felt that she was more well-suited to stilettos or steel-capped boots. Something that would damage and harm.

It wasn’t entirely surprising they were there. The Court would be handed over now, since Gwyn didn’t stay for the moment when the great double doors were opened again. It signalled the time when the Court belonged to all Seelie.

He stood, walked past the dais where Crielle and Albion were seated. They were in low conversation about tradewind fae, how unpredictable they could be. Gwyn was just about to pass completely when Crielle held out an elegant hand with blue-painted nails, indicating that Gwyn should wait a moment.

‘Sit with us for at least a few minutes, before the Court gets crowded. We all know how much you hate that.’

Albion nodded sympathetically. Albion’s sympathy was real – if more pity than anything else – but Crielle’s sympathy was a fanged creature. Anyone else would buy it, Gwyn knew better.

Still, he sat. Neither of them had noticed another presence in the room, so he deliberately pushed thoughts of Augus out of his mind. He had to deal with this with his wits about him, he couldn’t afford to lend any of his mind to a waterhorse who could be anywhere.

‘Pazhna says that you have been interrogating that waterhorse,’ Crielle said, ‘but what for? What do you hope to discover?’

Gwyn was momentarily very glad that he’d never injured Augus with the sounds, that he’d blood-oathed to be gentle, because Pazhna – as competent as she was – could not keep a patient’s confidentiality. It was her biggest flaw, it was only that her healing ability was so fine, he wouldn’t dismiss her.If he’d needed her all that time ago...he didn’t even want to imagine how things would be different now.

‘Nothing,’ Gwyn said quietly. ‘It’s an old torture tactic. A long game, if you will. Albion, you must be familiar.’

‘Very. There were rumours that you were torturing him, and now we see they are true? There have been less battles lately, I suppose you may need an outlet for that strength of yours. Still, it is brutish.’

Crielle laughed gently.

‘Ah, but he is a brute! I remember _Efnisien_ saying something about that. Do you remember? Something about the Caves of Argoth, I believe.’

Gwyn’s spine turned to ice. She was digging at him, here, in plain sight. It wasn’t like her. She was normally far more subtle, usually cared a great deal more about hiding her knowledge. And while he panicked internally, his entire outward demeanour was calm, he quirked his lips on a half-smile.

‘Perhaps Efnisien was simply tired of wearing all the insults himself, given how often he was called such by others. Besides, we all know it is true. I am what I am, mother. It may not be to your tastes, and for that I do sincerely apologise, but I cannot help but feel that I captured the waterhorse, and therefore he is mine to do with as I wish.’

He made himself sound faintly petulant, even _petty._ He made it seem as though Augus was a spoil of war and he was torturing Augus as casually as one might read a book.

It worked.

Conversation after that continued onto other subjects, and Gwyn was relieved at how easily they accepted his role of torturer. He wasn’t even horrified. He had his reputation in the battlefield, and he _had_ tortured in the past. He’d never taken prisoners before, but he certainly had established himself enough that committing regular bouts of torture wasn’t outside of the realm of possibility. Thank goodness, because it was the quickest lie he could think to come up with when he visited Pazhna.

‘Ah, well then, the crowds beckon. Come along then, son, let me escort you away to other important business.’

She wanted audience with him alone.

Gwyn nodded to Albion, who bowed slightly in his chair. His hand was gathered up in Crielle’s, her palm squeezing his lightly. It looked affectionate, loving. It was a threat.

They walked quietly to the edge of the room, through one of the private exits into a long, vaulted, deserted corridor lined with pale columns on one side, marble wall on the other. The door swung shut behind them.

Crielle in a flash had her fingernails buried deep in Gwyn’s palm, ripping her fingernails down roughly, leaving his hand wounded and blood trailing down his fingers. He shook it off soundlessly. His hand continued to bleed.

His fear abated somewhat. It was always easier after she had struck. Waiting for her torments, waiting to see what they would be, that was always worse.

‘Enjoy your remaining days as King,’ Crielle said.

‘Days, mother?’ Gwyn said. ‘Not weeks? Months? I still have some favour in this Court. You cannot work _that_ quickly.’

Could she? Did she know something he didn’t? There was no way she knew about Augus, the rules of his Kingship were absolute. She couldn’t see past the defences of his palatial-rooms, the permissions, his privacy. Was there something else? And if so, _what_ was it?

‘Tsh, I have blood on my nails,’ Crielle said in mock dismay. ‘As for how fast I can work, just wait and see what I have planned for you. You’ll be so proud of my _coup d’etat._ I would never have thought of it, if you hadn’t murdered my nephew.’

‘Glad to have been of service,’ Gwyn said coldly, walking away.

A moment later a bolt of energy hit him from behind, clung to his back. It shimmered with a feeling of love and care, and Gwyn sickened under it. He bowed almost double. Crielle fought with her glamour, sending out emotions as a fire fae might send a ball of flame; she could project it and manipulate it offensively if she wished to. She rarely fought with her hate. She summoned her feelings towards her family, her _nephew._ He’d only experienced this a handful of times before, when she was feeling truly vicious.

He moaned thinly.

‘Don’t walk away from me, creature,’ Crielle said, her voice a whisper. ‘Do you feel that? A _mother’s love?_ With Efnisien gone I have no where left to put it. I could throw it all upon you, if you wish. Except that I would rather not, what a waste. My, my, can you even tell what it is?’

The feeling of it withdrew, leaving Gwyn as hollow as he always felt. He straightened, turned back to Crielle. He mastered his breathing, but she already knew how much she’d shaken him. She always did.

‘Did it shake your unshakeable centre?’ Gwyn said. ‘Losing him? For you are all clumsiness and weak overtures of power, and nothing like the bastion of strength and manipulation you have been for thousands of years, mother. If you care for those plans of yours, perhaps you might wish to play your cards wisely. Those who think they can afford to gloat, often can’t.’

‘That’s battlefield wisdom,’ Crielle said dismissively. ‘This isn’t a battlefield, darling thing. This is my Court. Not yours. _My_ Court. You may own it in title, how wonderful for you, I’m so proud. But I play Court games, not your crude, crass tactics.’

‘You’re lashing out,’ Gwyn said, sounding bored. ‘Attacking me in a corridor. This?’ He held up his palm. ‘You’re unravelling, mother.’

The ball of energy that shot towards him from Crielle’s right hand was coloured faintly, shimmered like heat haze. It was all the warning Gwyn got before it sunk deep into his chest and he stumbled.

A visceral, toxic, millennia-long hatred. But this was _nothing._ Gwyn hated himself at least as much as Crielle did, and he laughed as it milled around inside of him, as it tried to harm him and found only companionship in the feelings he had for himself. After all this time, Crielle still didn’t understand. 

But when the emotions shifted inside of him, turned into a cloying, sticky comfort, he realised she _did_. He stared at her in horror. Something soothing crept through him and he choked on it, raising a hand to his chest. He choked again as the feelings strengthened. He felt lulled, contained, _comforted,_ and it lay all over his terror, forced fingers into his mind.

‘Expel me from the Court,’ Crielle said, her voice hard. ‘Demote me. The fact that you _cannot_ without raising so much question is a sign that this Court of yours belongs to _me_. I have your Court. I have one third of your Inner Court; _two thirds_ if we include the fact that I have _you_.’

The feelings changed to those of acceptance, as though she had always accepted him for who he was, but there was a faint hint of mocking in them. Gwyn wanted to dig his hands into his chest and tear the energy out, because it was a _lie._ There were times she’d done this to him as a child, a teenager, even an adult, and he’d grown out of screaming at her to stop, begging for mercy, but he hadn’t grown out of the internal shrieking, the incessant nausea that followed.

‘You’d be a fine torturer, mother.’

‘High praise from you, I imagine. But I don’t need your praise, Efnisien knew.’

All of a sudden the assault on his senses, his emotions, were over. He felt scoured out, and when he straightened once more, he was aware of fine tremors moving through his body. Not many people knew Crielle could do that with her power, usually she was only stroking the outer corners of their mind with it; sending them acceptance, love, devotion. But when she used it offensively... it was a terrifying thing.

‘Your light took something from me, when I birthed you,’ Crielle said, smiling, eyes gleaming. ‘You owe me a debt. And soon, you will pay it. And now I have to clean my hand, and I have some fae to entertain.’

She walked away and Gwyn didn’t respond. He wasn’t supposed to. He was about to teleport away when Augus suddenly flickered into view nearby, a safe distance away, something dark and vicious on his face.

‘Don’t leave me behind,’ Augus murmured.

Gwyn wished Augus hadn’t seen that, but found himself unable to care very much. He felt so empty, none of his own emotions seemed to matter. Augus became invisible again and grasped his arm, and Gwyn teleported them back into the sanctum of his rooms.

Augus reappeared immediately and then sagged, and Gwyn’s eyes widened. He caught Augus before he fell completely. Augus breathed an exhausted laugh.

‘It’s draining,’ Augus said. ‘It’s very draining. I can’t do it for too long.’

‘You were there for _hours.’_

‘I’m going to need to rest, now, soon. Very soon.’

Gwyn encouraged him to lie down, asking him if he needed anything. But once Augus was lying down, he shook his head, pressing a hand to his forehead and frowning.

‘What was she doing to you?’ Augus said.

‘She attacks with glamour. Persuasion. In my case, she sends emotions to disarm me.’

‘Dislike? Disgust?’

‘Love. Comfort. Acceptance.’

Augus paused where he was rubbing at his own forehead, stared at him. Gwyn shifted uncomfortably under that gaze. And soon the room was filled with a low, bass growl that was far larger than Augus was himself. His supernatural voice, he was _furious._

Gwyn didn’t want to hear it. He somewhat admired Crielle. For someone with very little training, she could be an effective opponent. He didn’t want pity, to hear how horrifying it was.

The rolling growl continued and then stopped abruptly as Augus gave a giant yawn. He placed a hand over his mouth to mask it, then closed his eyes and frowned.

‘No one knew I was there. It works. It’s a good power. When I kill your mother, I just want you to know that I warned you.’

Gwyn stared at him.

‘That was my warning.’

Augus closed his eyes, his hands went limp. A moment later he was fast asleep on Gwyn’s bed, and didn’t look to be moving any time soon.

*

It was two days later – two days of Augus still working on his Invisibility, of Gwyn prowling his own inner rooms lost in thought – that Gwyn was at a large table in an airy, arched room with pale yellow walls painted with flowers, looking over old paperwork and contracts.

And that was when he scented it; _waterhorse._

He stood up quickly as Ash entered, hair long and shaggy, wearing his crown, sober and a flinty hardness in his hazel eyes. The trows backed off quickly, having been told to escort him directly to Gwyn if they saw him come to a specific place near the edge of the Seelie Court. He had a bag slung over one shoulder. Gwyn’s eyes widened.

_He’s done it. He’s done it. He’s gone and done it, he’s-_

Ash walked up to him and smashed his fist up into Gwyn’s face. There was a crack, his head exploded in pain, his eye offered up a shaft of agony and his throat clenched around it. He went heavily to his knees. His eyes were watering. His cheek was bleeding; his cheekbone broken. Ash was standing over him, they were both breathing harshly.

Ash and Gulvi were the only other fae in the world who could injure him this easily. Kings and Queens shared the same strength, the same status, the same ability to harm. 

When Ash leaned over him, Gwyn flinched backwards, remembering Tigbalan.

‘Is it healing? Is it healing?’ Ash said, something concerned and...fervent, in his tone. Gwyn realised that it _was_ healing, he nodded absently. _‘Good.’_

The fist came down again, punching the exact same spot. Gwyn went down to his hands. He forced his eyes open through the pain of it, opened his mouth and shoved his fingers inside and growled as he nudged his cheekbone back into place to make it heal faster. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear blood from his eye, realised it wasn’t blood. The second punch had been hard enough to shear his ocular nerve.

He was temporarily blind in one eye. It had happened before, but he hated it.

Ash waited. Gwyn pushed himself upright, working his jaw, absorbing the pain into his whole body so that he could manage it. Ash was glaring at him, fists still clenched.

‘Now, where the _fuck_ is my brother?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, 'Brother:'
> 
> ‘I believe that this is genuine,’ Augus said, laying each word down carefully, ‘and I thank the both of you for going to this length, but I am _not_ interested.’


	34. Brother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New tag: Soul bond.
> 
> I am currently updating this from a tiny little cafe in West Wittering in England, on a day where the weather's been so bad I took a full stack (fall) and injured my hand and my knee which has already had two knee reconstructions, I mean seriously, lol. We don't have wifi in our accomodation like promised because of storms, so Glen and I are sitting here while I update instead. :D 
> 
> Please take the time to comment if you have it! It's lovely to hear from all of you at the moment, even if I can only get back in staggered moments. I WILL get back to everyone. *hugs* :D

He was, at least, healing quickly. It was nothing like his experience with Tigbalan. A single – if severe – break, and blindness in only one eye, meant that after only several minutes he was able to work his jaw more easily. It was painful, certainly, but he thought he could manage talking.

Gwyn felt a small vindictive pleasure at making Ash wait. He’d left him in one of the ancient, inner-circle meeting rooms of his palace. He’d preserved a few leftover from the Oak King’s rule, but had never used them because he didn’t invite anyone into his palatial rooms; certainly not enough to warrant a meeting room. He’d closed the door behind him, pressed his palm flat against the wall and sealed it so that Ash couldn’t get out, felt an immediate sense of satisfaction even as his head throbbed agony at him.

The satisfaction he yielded from trapping Ash within the Seelie Court was short-lived. His mind was a cacophony of noise.

If Ash was successful, if this worked – Augus would be released. Not immediately but...very soon. It was all going to be over. He was certain someone would suspect what he’d done, he didn’t know if Old Lore magic of that magnitude could remain unhidden. Surely someone would _sense_ that it had been done?

He hummed experimentally. The vibration shot up through his cheekbone and he winced, but he could feel that the bone knitting together. He blinked rapidly, constantly trying to clear a vision that would heal in its own time. Through one eye he saw perfectly, through the other, blurs that made him feel like he had blood or water in his eyes.

He’d dealt with – fought through – much worse on the battlefield.

He thought about walking through the palace to make Ash wait even longer, but ended up teleporting away to find Augus, deciding that it would be best if he got this over and done with quickly.

*

‘Battlefield injury? Or, perchance, did you just knock your head _very_ hard on a cabinet?’

Gwyn shook his head, it hurt to grimace at him. Augus walked up instantly, pressed his fingers to the wound his brother had caused. The whole thing made him so uncomfortable that he stepped back. Augus was going to find out that Gwyn had visited Ash without telling him, had organised all of this without telling him.

Not only that, but the Old Lore he’d looked for...he didn’t think Augus was going to be very grateful for it.

‘I’m taking you to meet someone,’ Gwyn said. Talking wasn’t as excruciating as he’d feared, he pushed the pain away. As long as he was healing, it didn’t matter. It was an insignificant signal his  body offered up, made redundant by the speed of his healing.

‘The person who punched you?’ Augus said, eyes narrowing. ‘I haven’t seen _anyone_ except your soldiers and the trows. Is this the second part of the plan?’

He was full of questions and Gwyn didn’t see the point in answering.

‘You’re going to be...asked to do something difficult,’ Gwyn said. Augus’ expression stilled, and then went carefully blank. The last time Gwyn had warned him about something like this, he’d been dragged off to a Display, soon after. ‘You do not _have_ to do it, but I caution you now to consider everything presented to you. If everything goes well today, you will be released soon. In under two weeks.’

Technically Gwyn could release him within days if everything went to plan. All Ash had to do was finalise his side of things, get the Unseelie Court ready. But...he gave himself two weeks. He hated himself for it, he should have been honest with Augus. Choosing to spend more days with a captive – instead of freeing him as he wanted to – was selfish and cowardly.

‘Is it a Mage?’ Augus said, voice hushed.

Gwyn reached out and took him by the shoulder, they dissolved into light.

*

The cry that Ash gave when he saw his brother was a sound that Gwyn would never forget.

He stepped backwards out of their way, leaned against the wall, told himself that he wouldn’t interfere with their reunion unless he had to. He’d already taken too much from them, he couldn’t leave them their privacy, but he could stay out of their space, their energy, as much as possible. He blinked blurriness out of his eye from time to time, only to remember with frustration that his sight would return in its own time.

Ash and Augus stared at each other. Augus’ arms limp by his side, and Ash’s hands trembling, reaching.

Ash with his long, curly hair and crown atop it, a unique filigree in a fine silver, looking like thin, leaved twigs. He wore human shoes, human clothing, though he looked smarter and neater than he had when Gwyn had last seen him. His shirt had a collar, his face was clean-shaven. And Augus opposite him wearing finely made clothing; the finest the Seelie treasury could afford. Black boots with hand-made buckles and stern heels, blank pants that were form-fitting but soft and water-wicking. A long-sleeved, button up shirt, pale green and also collared, an embroidered motif of lake-weed coiling up from the hem on the left-hand side.

Gwyn heard Augus’ exhale, saw the colour that drained from his face. His eyes brightened, his hands spasmodically opened and fingers splayed. He stared hungrily. Aside from the trembling of his chest as he caught his breath, he didn’t move.

They couldn’t look away.

_‘Ash,’_ Augus said, his voice naked and stripped of all of its usual affectation.

Augus looked at Gwyn in disbelief, and then stared at Ash again, shaking his head faintly.

‘Ash, you...’

Ash’s eyes were roving, taking in Augus’ clothing, his hair, his face. And Gwyn’s own heart was pounding rapidly to see them stare at each other so, to see the connection they had. Gwyn had used that connection, used it to defeat a King, destroy two brothers. Seeing it now, he wondered what it must be like. He didn’t think he felt for anyone the way Augus and Ash felt for each other. He loved Augus, certainly, but not as kin, not for thousands of years. He’d never had that for anyone.

‘Ash! I...what happened to your _hair?’_

‘You used to like it long!’ Ash said, voice rusty as though he hadn’t used it for weeks.

‘Mm, when I was _ten.’_

Ash’s eyes widened, and then he started to laugh, Augus following suit. Both of them laughing freely, normal enough for Ash, but Gwyn had never heard Augus laugh like that. As though nothing mattered and everything was okay, no sarcasm or darkness or smugness attached to it.

Gwyn’s heart ached. He wished he had kept Tigbalan’s power for himself so he could fade away.

‘You look terrible,’ Augus said, laughing again.

‘And you...brother. You look _well.’_

Ash’s eyes met Gwyn’s where he stood against the wall, something confused, suspicious in them. He looked back at Augus, at the quality of his clothing, at his freely dripping hair which was not nearly as poor in health since the Display. Since then Augus had experienced free access to water, showers, had fed on a human, ate whatever he pleased. He was _healthy._ He could stand to feed his true appetite more, but there was no mistaking the fact that Augus was no longer underfae, that he had been well for some time.

He looked healthier than Ash did.

‘You’re not...underfae? Hold up. Hold the fuck up. What the fuck is going on? Did you fuck your way to freedom or something?’

Augus smirked, opened his mouth to respond. Gwyn didn’t want to know what he was going to say and cleared his throat. They both looked to him in an instant. Gwyn was unsurprised at Ash’s suspicion, it was clear he thought Gwyn an intrusion, nothing more. But even Augus looked...wary.

_Both wondering what I’m going to do to them this time._

‘Ah, suddenly the smashed up face makes sense,’ Augus said, turning back to Ash. ‘Honestly, brother, I can defend myself.’

‘I didn’t do it for you!’ Ash said indignantly. ‘I did it for _me._ Fucker lied to me. He promised he’d give you back to us, Augus. He _promised._ Short of a blood-oath, he fucking swore it. And instead of giving you to the Unseelie Court, he fucking _kept_ you.’

Gwyn froze.

That was the one thing he’d not revealed to Augus. At first because he didn’t want to, and then because he forgot, and then because he just didn’t want to think about any of it anymore. He’d even managed to reassure Augus that Ash still loved him and cared for him without revealing the promise he’d broken. It wasn’t a very Seelie thing to do, but then...

‘Is that so?’ Augus said, and Gwyn fought to hold back the swallow, fought to keep his expression impassive as Augus levelled him with a cold look.

‘He didn’t tell you? Of course he fucking didn’t. Augus, I would _never_ have left you here. Fuck, no, that wasn’t the plan. You were supposed to come back with _me,_ that day. That was one of the requirements, that you would come back with me, straight away, that I could...’

‘Ash,’ Augus said, not taking his eyes away from Gwyn’s. There were promises in that gaze, a menace that made Gwyn want to shift from foot to foot. He tasted dread in the back of his throat, thin and acidic, like bile. ‘I’m sure you’re not here to tell me that Gwyn broke a promise.’

‘I can’t get over the fact that you’re not underfae, and you’re...but during the Display, I thought that- I mean, you were _hurt.’_

‘I’m surprised you remember,’ Augus said, uncomfortable. ‘I’m sure you’re not here to talk about that either. Can we discuss my condition and broken oaths once I know _why_ you’re here? I’m not sure if you remember, but the last time you and Gwyn colluded, it didn’t end well for me.’

_Oh fuck._

Gwyn hadn’t even thought of Augus making that connection. He looked up at the ceiling and took a slow, deep breath. He could have thought of a better way of bringing this up. He should have warned Augus, or at least let him know that Ash was at the Seelie Court; instead he had wanted it to be a surprise...

Ash shrugged off the knapsack, lowered it to the table, opened it carefully. There was nothing in it except for faintly glowing light, highlighting the bareness of the satchel.

Ash drew out two objects, both so fragile in appearance that Gwyn knew only magic held them together. They were woven filaments of light, both a pale, glowing turquoise. It was as though strands of shimmering hair had been tangled together as two hollow orbs. Except that the hair reflected and glimmered, hummed. Gwyn could feel the magic of them sending reverberations through his body, his rib ached in response. Old Lore calling to Old Lore.

The knapsack must have been made of a material to protect the orbs and hide their vibrating magic. The Mage must have given it to him.

Ash looked up at Gwyn and back to the orbs. He didn’t seem to know what to say.

‘It’s Old Lore,’ Gwyn said, meeting Augus’ eyes. This was important. This was more important than broken promises or the pain of releasing Augus or really, _anything._ ‘It’s a Soulbond. This one is designed specifically for you and Ash, by the only Mage alive in the world today who can make them. It occurred to me that you need something more than what I’ve given you so far. Something public, something that others will see and respond to.

‘Ash is beloved amongst our kind, even to this day. Were fae to know that you were so bonded to Ash, that you had promised not to harm the Unseelie or Seelie Kingdoms on pain of _Ash_ dying, it would stay the hands of many. They trust in that bond, they’ve had thousands of years to learn to believe in it. What fae doesn’t know the story of the Each Uisge and the Glashtyn, come together in this lifetime to be brothers instead of mortal enemies? The Soulbond does, however, come with side effects. The ones you’ve probably heard of in folktale. If Ash dies, you would die, and vice versa. So should a successful assassination attempt occur, Ash will also come to pass. And if you break your oath given for the gift of this Soulbond, Ash will die. Likewise, if Ash breaks his oath, you will.’

Augus stared at the orbs, horror on his face. His mouth was twisted in disgust, eyebrows pulled together. He took a small step backwards.

‘I’m not interested.’

Gwyn had been expecting this, but Ash clearly hadn’t.

‘Wait, no, Augus, this is so you can be released! He said so! If it’s that you don’t trust him, look, I get that, but-’

‘I believe that this is genuine,’ Augus said, laying each word down carefully, ‘and I thank the both of you for going to this length, but I am _not_ interested.’

He laughed faintly.

‘I would _never_ be interested. The Old Lore is illegal and banned for a _reason._ And this deal you want to make? Ash, you would die. I’m not...interested in something that would get you killed. I’m not. Brother, I want you to live forever, and I most certainly will not.’

Ash’s brows pulled together in shock. He looked down at the glowing orbs as though he hadn’t foreseen the argument, which was ridiculous – at least from where Gwyn was standing – it was the biggest hurdle he’d foreseen. And then Ash looked up from the orbs and pinned Augus with a look that could only be called pure _pleading._ Augus maintained eye contact with him for several breaths and then had to look away.

‘Augus, I could hardly survive these months without you in my life, and I knew you were _alive._ How do you think I’m gonna handle it if you’re fucking killed by some fae, randomly, and I can’t protect you? This gives me a chance to protect you. Like...I dunno, like I haven’t been able to in the past? And it’s not like I haven’t thought about this. It’s something I’m willing to do. Okay? I’m not an idiot, I know it puts me at risk. I just happen to think you’re worth it. Y’know, because I love you and you’re cool.’

Augus turned a pained look to Gwyn.

‘Can we have some time alone?’

‘Not until this has been decided,’ Gwyn said, and Augus glared at him. ‘And it hasn’t been decided.’

‘It sounded like I made a decision. Did it not sound like I made a decision? Also, have you not considered that I’m also not interested in making an oath where I swear not to work against either of the Courts? I-’

Gwyn reached into his pocket, drew out a crumpled piece of parchment.

‘This is what you’d be oathing.’

‘Hey!’ Ash said, as Augus snatched it from his hands and started to read it. ‘I get to decide that!’

‘You most assuredly do _not.’_ Gwyn stared at him. ‘Not in this. He needs to make an oath that other fae can hear and verify, not some cobbled together hack-job that you’ve done at the last minute, so that you can get him free again.’

‘Oh,’ Augus said quietly. ‘You put in clauses.’

‘Well, fuck him,’ Ash said, coming over. Gwyn was surprised to see Augus cringe away from him, but Ash didn’t seem to have noticed. The movement had only been slight, and a few moments later, Gwyn wondered if he’d imagined it. They were leaning towards each other now. Invisible threads binding them close.

It was that exact connection that Gwyn wanted to exploit again, only this time with the hopes of keeping Augus alive.

‘No, not...’ Augus looked up at Gwyn in confusion. ‘If my life is in danger, or I believe my life to be truly threatened even if it is _not_ in actual danger, I am able to work against the Courts for so long as I perceive my life to be in danger and the Courts to be a cause. In other words...’

‘In other words, if the Seelie or Unseelie Court mobilise against you, if Gulvi plots your end, you may do whatever you need to do to defend yourself.’

‘Ah. That’s- it looks like freedom but it’s not freedom. A Soulbond isn’t freedom.’

‘What freedom did you truly think you’d have for yourself, after everything that you’ve done, and everything that you’ve experienced? Has it taken this long for you to realise that it doesn’t exist? I’ve said I wanted to release you from the Seelie Court. I didn’t say anything about _freedom.’_

Though, secretly, he had been thinking of it as freedom. It was the closest that Augus would come to it. Semi-protected by Old Lore, invisibility to hide from assassination attempts outside of the Unseelie Court, a brother who was King, and Gulvi who would never attempt to kill Augus while his life was tied to Ash’s, because she was a swan, and she had given her heart away to Ash and was so bound to him; even if Ash didn’t return that love. It was the best he could offer.

Ash was staring at Gwyn once more, eyebrows pulled together, forehead wrinkled. Gwyn sighed.

‘I’ll give you some time to talk it over. Call me back when you’re ready, the Soulbond needs-’

‘-To be witnessed by a third party,’ Ash interrupted. ‘Yeah, yeah, I got the skinny on that, don’t you worry.’

Gwyn walked out of the room, wondering how long the headache would take to pass. Every time he talked, every time he forced his voice to normalcy and made his diction clear, his cheekbone shredded pain at him. His eyesight was becoming whole again, but the blurs of colour, the fact that his sight was so imbalanced; he still felt as though something were in his eye.

He leaned against the wall outside, but didn’t close the door fully. He’d always planned to listen in, he couldn’t trust them with complete privacy.

A sound of movement, then Augus making an abortive noise.

‘I can’t,’ Augus said.

‘What?’

‘Just not...here. When I’m, when I’m out – then. You can hug me then. But not in here.’

‘Right, right. I gotcha,’ Ash said. He sounded sad though. Augus had refused an embrace? Then again, Gwyn couldn’t blame him. Perhaps he wanted to wait until it was all real. Augus was far better at delayed gratification than most.

A long silence then. So long, Gwyn wondered if they had a signed language, some other way of communicating.

‘You know why I can’t do this,’ Augus said. ‘Also, you look ridiculous with that crown on your head.’

‘Firstly, I look fantastic. Secondly, I know why you _think_ you can’t do this. But here’s, here’s the thing, and I’ve thought a lot about this so please just don’t interrupt me until I’m done. Okay? I know you love to interrupt me, but just... _wait._

‘As far as I know, you were fucked up by the Nightmare King. Badly. That’s about as much as I knew because you wouldn’t tell me anything more than that, but guess what, Augus? When he came back, _he_ told me some of it. No, _no,_ don’t you interrupt me, just _wait._ Now, as far as I know, you then went kind of mental, joined the crazy train, defeated a Kingdom – unfortunately for you, _your own fucking Kingdom_ , and then basically have been...doing all of this shit, because...I don’t even think I can say it. Because he hurt you, basically. Now, I didn’t...push hard enough. I looked for you when he had you, I did, but when you came back I didn’t push hard enough, because that’s not what we were about. You know? You were the big brother, I was the little brother, and the rule was that I didn’t push you about things, and you didn’t...force me to grow up, even if you- Even if maybe I should have been made to.

‘Just look at me, Augus. You think I’m not gonna push hard now? This _does_ actually make you more likely to survive out there. I’ve been...thinking about it. How Gwyn might use it against us, but also how we might use it to sort of, I don’t know, make it. You’d be in the Unseelie Court, you’d be Inner Court status and protected. Seelie fae can’t get in at all, and there are protected rooms, and-’

‘I’d be a prisoner.’

‘ _That’s_ the definition of interrupting me.’

‘Well, I’d hate to break character,’ Augus muttered. ‘I need to be able to get out of the Unseelie Court, Ash. I need...I need a lake. I need a _home._ Your life would be in danger.’

‘It’s my life, I get to do what I want with it. I want to use it to make you more likely to live. That’s a big deal to me, you know, you being alive.’

Another long silence.

‘Augus, look at me.’

‘No,’ Augus said.

‘Come on, just a teensy-weensy look? Just one?’

‘You’re making that face again.’

Gwyn almost smiled, except that he knew it would hurt his cheekbone. He couldn’t imagine exactly how Ash looked, but he thought he could imagine Augus’ expressions. He thought he could hear the hesitation in his voice. Augus was making the right arguments, but there was a fractiousness in his voice, a desperation to be as free as he could be, to claw a life back to himself.

For all that Augus wanted Ash alive, he wanted his own life too. Gwyn had bet a great deal of all of this on the fact of Augus’ survival instinct. After all, Augus’ survival instinct had seen him through his time with the Nightmare King. It had seen him through six months of isolation in a cell, to the point where he was _healthier_ than when he was put in it. Gwyn had faith in that instinct.  

He wasn’t the only one with the survival instinct of a cockroach.

‘Did he...really promise to give me to the Unseelie Court?’

‘Fucking hell, did he ever,’ Ash said. Gwyn took a shaky breath, squeezed his eyes shut. That hurt his cheek, but he didn’t ease off.

‘Ash, this is forever. This Soulbond is forever. They can’t be undone, can they?’

‘Mage said they’re permanent.’

‘That means that in two thousand years time, _if_ we happen to make it that far, our guards will be down because that’s what people _do,_ and someone with a death-grudge will come and find me. That will be that.’

‘Then we got another two thousand years,’ Ash said, sounding excited. ‘Look at me, Augus. Do I look like someone who’s afraid of dying in your name?’

Another long pause.

‘I can’t believe you’re hedging on this!’ Ash shouted. ‘You’ve been fucking locked up for a year, you’ve been treated like shit with that unpredictable asshole. I don’t care if the Display was a rouse, you’ve been a goddamned prisoner. I’m tired of you being taken by some evil dick who wants to make your life miserable, and I’m tired of not being able to do anything about it! Well, look here, we can _do_ something about it! I don’t know why he’s setting you free, and maybe it is a trick, but-’

‘It’s not a trick,’ Augus said. ‘I believe he means it.’

Silence.

‘Do you not believe me?’ Augus said.

‘No offense, brother, but...you’ve believed some pretty crazy things before, after captivity.’

‘Oh,’ Augus said. ‘Ah, of course.’

‘What did he make you give up, so you could be so healthy? How are you not underfae? Has he been, oh fucking hell, what has he been _taking_ from you?’

‘Oh _please,’_ Augus snarled. ‘Give me some _credit._ Like I’ve ever been some victim. By the gods, Ash. I was out of the cell and living in my own rooms before the Display. I was upgraded to Capital status shortly after that. I’ve been given a _lake._ You should be asking me what I’ve been taking from _him.’_

Gwyn’s eyes flew open, his face slung pain at him in response and he ignored it.

‘You should ask me what he has left to give,’ Augus laughed darkly.

Gwyn felt as though he’d been struck all over again.

He’d been an idiot all this time – and of course he’d _known_ that – but...hearing Augus say as much to Ash was difficult. His heart beat harder, he realised that it had been so easy for Augus to play him. He’d probably laid himself out on a silver platter, shown all his vulnerabilities from that very first time he went down to try and break him in a cell. Gwyn had wondered in the beginning, suspected all along, and it wasn’t so much that it was a surprise, it was that...it was that he’d somehow hoped it would stay private. That Augus wouldn’t tell everyone else how much of a vulnerable fool he was.

They must have continued talking while he scrambled after his own thoughts, because the next moment Augus had ducked his head out of the door, raising his eyebrows at Gwyn.

‘Do you want to witness this Soulbonding or not? It’s the first of its kind in thousands of years, so you might as well.’

‘You’ll do it?’

‘Did it not just sound like that’s what I said?’

Augus walked back into the room and Gwyn followed, apprehensive.

*

An hour later, everything was set up, everyone was nervous. Even Ash. The more they formalised the steps, the more Gwyn remembered that origami bird talking about the price being high, for everyone, for the _others._ He pushed it out of his mind. But the nervousness remained.

They’d hit a hurdle early on when Ash had said:

‘So what do you want me to oath? You have yours, but I have to oath something too.’

‘Nothing,’ Augus said casually.

‘No, I mean, I _have_ to. There needs to be an exchange in the contract for the Soulbond to work.’

Augus fidgeted, turned to the side, hiding his face from Ash, hiding most of it from Gwyn. And what Gwyn could see gave him pause, Augus looked frightened, cautious.

‘Come on, man, there must be something you want from me. More hugs. For me not to hog all the blankets. I can stop stealing your food. Come on, Augus. Now’s your chance.’

Augus gazed fixedly on the floor, he didn’t blink for a long time.

‘Oath not to infest me with the shadows again,’ Augus said quietly.

Gwyn looked over to see Ash’s reaction. Ash was looking at Gwyn again, a kind of horror on his face. But he tore his eyes away, took a step towards his brother, concerned. Augus stiffened and Ash froze.

‘That’s all I want,’ Augus said.

‘But they’re gone, they’re...it will _never_ happen again. It was a one off, and it can’t happen again. I, Augus, you can’t, you should ask for something diff-’

‘That’s all I want,’ Augus repeated, turning to him. ‘Just that.’

Not to be infested with the shadows again. Augus had never talked about what it felt like with Ash. He’d talked about some aspects of his time with the Nightmare King, he’d had nightmares around Gwyn, he’d shown his distress in complete darkness, around gags. He’d even talked, briefly, about missing Ash. But he’d never _ever_ talked about how it felt to have Ash force those shadows into him, to have that act – which Gwyn knew horrified Augus so much – come from Ash, of all people. And it was now, in this moment, that Gwyn came to understand a measure of how horrendous Augus had found the whole experience. That, out of _everything_ , he would choose this almost redundant oath for something that really wouldn’t ever happen again.

That he still needed that reassurance, to the point that he would Soulbond with Ash over it, was eye-opening.

‘I...okay, okay, Augus. Sure. I got it,’ Ash said.

His voice was muted, he looked sad. But he wrote down his oath all the same, made Augus check it over to make sure it was good enough. Augus nodded, but he seemed absent, not quite in the room. Gwyn had seen him like that before.

It was very much how Augus had been before he’d decided to roleplay himself as Unseelie King and poked Gwyn full of holes in the process.

Gwyn shivered.

Augus took the ball of filamentous light that Ash handed to him, turned it in his fingers, staring at it. He looked like he was only examining it, but Gwyn could see by the lines of tension in his body that he wasn’t pleased about any of it. He realised Augus had not once officially agreed to it. His own heart beat furiously in his chest. This would ensure so much protection for Augus, even if it did put Ash at increased risk. It wasn’t as though Ash hadn’t been made completely aware of the consequences of his actions this time.

There were no lies here, but there was no agreement that anything would go ahead either.

‘Placement matters,’ Ash said, ignoring Gwyn completely and only addressing Augus. ‘I need to...the Mage said it would be best if I placed my hand over your heart while you took your oath. And that, for me, you can choose anywhere. Forearm is more casual, like there’s so much fucking _casual_ about this. But um, the Mage said that if you had the oath taken over your heart, people would...maybe take it more seriously.’

‘Would they,’ Augus drawled. ‘And then what? That would leave the _rest_ to come and kill me, and therefore you?’

‘Augus,’ Ash pleaded. ‘Augus, don’t you want to get out of here?’

‘He said he’d release me anyway,’ Augus said dismissively. ‘With or without this exchange.’

'Brother,’ Ash said. ‘Listen to me, this is something I _want_ to do. To help you. God help me, but the fates gave me this fucking glamour that makes everyone like me and want to be nice to me and I don’t know, _care_ or something. If I can use that to help you, because let’s face it – you don’t have the same type of glamour I do – just fucking _let_ me.’

Augus looked at the ball of light in his hand and turned it, made a small sound in the back of his throat. Gwyn’s hands ached to reach out, his throat opened to say something, to see if he was okay. But this wasn’t about him, and it wasn’t about his concerns. He pretended he wasn’t in the room even as he looked down on both of them, the tallest one there.

‘I don’t want this. I don’t want to swear an oath not to work against the Kingdoms. I’m _Unseelie._ I’m not some neutered gelding to be...led around like- As it is, I’ve done a Display once, I don’t need to do the magical equivalent of showing how _domesticated_ I am now.’

He put the ball of light down, turned away from Ash and took several deep breaths.

‘You want a lake,’ Ash said. ‘You want a home. And the Unseelie Court. And to not be here anymore. Maybe he’ll release you anyway, I don’t know what the _fuck_ is going on anymore, maybe it’s just one giant fucking scam, but you know, you _know_ that if you do this, your chances are better. Once the magic is actually done no one will care that it’s fucking illegal. Everyone will think, oh, I don’t know, how brave I was to do this for you, to put my life on the line like this, that you must be worth fighting for, that you did this for me knowing that I was putting myself at risk is a big deal, they will...Augus some of them are gonna believe it.’

Augus looked haunted, looked like he’d forgotten that Gwyn was in the room, like he didn’t want to hear anything Ash was saying. And Gwyn would give so much to be able to add his own weight to the argument, for Augus to listen to him; but he wasn’t family and he couldn’t be trusted. Ash had that earnestness reinforced by his natural glamour. It was a powerful weapon. If he ever decided to become a soldier, he could have been very compelling convincing loyalty from soldiers.

‘You want a home, right? To get out of here? To...I don’t know, not be fighting _everyone_ off?’

‘Shut up,’ Augus muttered.

But that was when Gwyn knew that Ash had him. And Ash knew it too, because he said nothing, and minutes later Augus picked up the ball of light again. His hand was trembling. He stared at it in horror.

‘This is _wrong._ It feels _wrong._ People aren’t supposed to be Soulbonded like this.’

‘Well, fuck me, it’s a good thing we’re not ‘people’ and we happen to be brothers, huh?’

‘It’s permanent,’ Augus said. _‘Permanent._ And, may I add, no fae who has ever Soulbonded before has _lived_ to tell the tale.’

'And? I nearly died from poison from a were-vilen when we were young, and god knows you’ve probably gotten yourself into trouble before. Jesus fuck, Augus, we’re not going to live forever you know. Accidents happen. We live a long time, but fae die. And we’re going to die. And fucking trust me, if you get run through on a sword and get all scrambled by some fae who wouldn’t have done it knowing I’d die too, and I know full well I didn’t push you to do this, I will regret it for the rest of my life.’

‘Of course if we do this, and I get run through with a sword anyway, you won’t be able to regret it, because you’ll be _dead.’_

‘Look at me. Jesus, you’ve hardly looked at me at all.’

‘I don’t want to be talked into this,’ Augus said.

‘Fucking _look_ at me!’

Augus did, reluctantly, and Ash stared, miserable. He was better put together than the last time Gwyn had seen him, but he still looked worn and aged. He wondered how much sleep Ash had been getting lately. Wondered if it had been hard for him to sober up, to not default to alcohol or worse as a way of dealing with all of his problems. It looked like it had taken a toll.

‘Augus, _please.’_

‘Tell me what to do,’ Augus said, closing his eyes. ‘Just tell me, and I’ll...’

And that was all Ash needed, directing Augus to unbutton his shirt, taking the oath that Gwyn had written and looking it over several times, glancing up at Gwyn with something like naked hatred in his eyes, before handing it back to Augus. He took the ball of light that Augus was holding and held it in his right hand, placed his left over Augus’ chest, watching Augus closely.

‘Read it out,’ Ash said.

Augus picked up the oath that Gwyn had written and read it silently several times. He took an unsteady breath and spoke the words that Gwyn had written himself, labouring over how to be precise without being too exacting.

‘I, Augus Each Uisge, brother to Ash Glashtyn, enter into this mutual Soulbond in which I oath to never...again work against the Seelie and Unseelie Kingdoms, in ways to bring about their ruin or the ruin of their people through powers awarded to me by the Court, Kingdom or otherwise; except in those circumstances in which I genuinely believe a Court or its members are mobililsing against me to do me harm, whether perceived or real. Or in those circumstances that a Court or its members are mobilising against a loved one in which I genuinely believe harm is intended, whether perceived or real.’

A pause, nothing happened.

Augus opened his mouth, a sceptical look crossing over his face, and Ash was staring down at the blue orb of light in confusion.

Then it struck. It coalesced into living light, whined so high Gwyn winced at the sound of it attacking his ears, shot into Augus’ chest. A blinding blue light flared. Augus screamed abruptly, a sound Gwyn had never heard torn from his throat before, not even when he’d had the nightmare. He was clawing at his chest, stepping back. Gwyn’s heart beat so fast he thought he’d swallowed a frantic, huge bird whole because what if he’d gotten it wrong, what if the Old Lore was _wrong,_ what if this wasn’t going to work and he’d just killed him because _everyone_ knew that the Old Lore was banned for a reason and that-

Gwyn rushed forwards as Augus collapsed, but Ash was there before him, catching him before he fell, lowering him to the ground carefully. Augus was limp in his arms, eyes half-closed, the whites showing. Ash glared at Gwyn, eyes blazing.

He pressed fingers to Augus’ throat, opened his mouth to spit insults, to probably ask Gwyn what he’d done, if he was _happy._

Augus took a huge breath, his eyes snapped open again, his body stiffened.

There was a blackened mark on his chest, faint hints of blue glittering in it. Gwyn stared.

He had no idea if that would stay, but it looked like...it might. It was a supernatural wound. And wounds made by magic tended to leave scars.

_‘Fuck,’_ Augus breathed. ‘Never doing...that again.’

‘Jesus, Augus, are you alright?’

‘Just...a minute, please.’ Augus’ voice was a wheeze in his throat, but a minute later he was struggling into a sitting position, and then pushing himself upright, Ash hovering over him and Gwyn wanting to do the same, but stepping back, realising Ash had it in hand. Augus laughed weakly.

‘I’m getting tired of...strange magic being shoved into me. I need...minute.’

Augus placed both hands flat on the table and bowed over them, taking deep, shaking breaths. Gwyn wanted to ask him what it felt like, if it hurt, if he was okay. He wanted to – unexpectedly – apologise. There was no going back now.

Augus needed about five minutes, and then suddenly he grabbed the other orb, lurched towards Ash.

‘It’s uneven,’ Augus gasped. ‘Do it. You need to complete it.’

‘What?’ Ash said, staring.

_‘Say the oath!’_

‘Okay, okay, fuck, pick, pick where the-’

Augus’ arm lashed out, his hand gripped Ash’s left forearm hard. He picked up Ash’s piece of paper and thrust it at him, he was trembling, jaw clenched.

‘By the gods, _hurry,’_ Augus said between his teeth.

‘Yeah, shit, uh...I, Ash Glashtyn, brother to Augus Each Uisge, enter into this mutual Soulbond in which I oath to never again infest, threaten or attack you with the living shadows or any other...alien darkness produced by the Nightmare King.’

The ball Augus was gripping in between white knuckles transformed instantly and then shot towards Ash’s wrist, stretching and writhing through Augus’ fingers and searing into Ash’s forearm. They both jerked apart, Ash so violently that his crown came off and fell to the ground with a musical _tink!_ The inside of his wrist was blackened – glittering, dancing flashes of blue-green shining beneath the skin. After a few seconds it settled and stilled, though Gwyn swore he could still see the magic. He could still see it under Augus’ skin. Bits of blue-green, winking at different angles.

‘Better,’ Augus exhaled harshly. ‘Better.’

‘What- what does it feel like?’

Ash and Augus both turned to Gwyn, Ash looking like he still wanted to murder him, and Augus like he’d forgotten Gwyn was there. But Gwyn wanted to know. It was a _Soulbond,_ the first since the Old Lore had been banned as far as he knew. It was an incredible magic. He would never learn again what it might be like.

‘It’s fine,’ Ash said sharply. But he turned and looked at the inside of his forearm, then trailed his fingers over the blackened skin. He winced, but didn’t look to be in any true pain. Augus, likewise, had pressed the flat of his palm to his chest, over the worst of the mark.

‘It feels like it’s always felt,’ Augus said quietly. ‘The skin is different but...we’re still brothers.’

‘Yeah,’ Ash said, smiling. ‘Still feels like that.’

Augus returned the smile, and then it faded from his face. His expression turned inwards, his lips thinned, his fingers picked at the mark over his skin absently. He looked into the distance, and then his fingers moved to his shirt and carefully buttoned it shut again, closing over the mark. To Gwyn’s surprise, Augus didn’t ask if it was permanent, didn’t ask if it would heal, seemed disinclined to talk or make eye contact.

Perhaps the gravity of what had just happened had hit him.

Ash faced Gwyn, bared his teeth.

‘But just think how much of this wouldn’t have been fucking _necessary,_ if you had just given him to us in the first place like you said you would. I hope your cheek hurts, asshole.’

Gwyn stared at Ash. And then Augus was grabbing Gwyn by the arm and dragging him away, digging his claws in. Gwyn felt very much _not_ like a King in that moment. Augus smiled sweetly at Ash.

‘Excuse me, brother, I just have something I’d like to talk to Gwyn about.’

‘Yeah, you do that,’ Ash said, returning the smile conspiratorially.

Gwyn’s eyes widened as Augus pulled him out of the room, closed the door to block sound, and then his heart started pounding faster when Augus pushed him back against the wall, furious. He couldn’t deal with this. He’d put himself on the line for this Soulbond, he was going to be killed, he only had weeks left at most. Who knew how many people had sensed the magic in the first place, and he-

He flinched when Augus dug his fingers into Gwyn’s ribs, aiming for pressure points.

‘A Soulbond and my brother, hm?’ Augus said. ‘So nice of you to let me know in advance.’

‘Augus, you-’

‘And you _betrayed_ him,’ Augus purred, Gwyn making a choked noise as Augus spider-walked his fingers into multiple pressure points so that Gwyn’s entire torso felt like it was catching on fire. He grit his teeth to bear the pain, only to cry out in the back of his throat as he aggravated still-healing bone.

Augus didn’t stop.

‘You betrayed my brother,’ he whispered, ‘and didn’t tell me? Probably wise. But I know now. Did you not tell me because you knew how I’d react? I still have that cross set up, could still tie you to it.’

Gwyn sidestepped away and then gasped at the intense flare of pain that Augus inflicted on him in punishment. He froze, felt sickened. He didn’t want this. Didn’t Augus know how hard he was trying? He’d been punched in the face twice, his eyesight was still coming back and he couldn’t tell Augus now because Augus would...what, like it? Say it was deserved? Gwyn knew he’d done the wrong thing, he’d known it for months upon months. It had never sat well with him. He didn’t need someone else to remind him. Not again.

Not _Augus._

‘Stop it,’ Gwyn said, voice weak. ‘Stop this.’

‘Is there anyone in the world who doesn’t hate you, once you’re through with them?’ Augus said.

Gwyn felt something twist in his chest, twist hard. He reached up and shoved Augus, who stumbled away, surprised.

‘I did the best that I could!’ Gwyn said, voice rising. ‘I did the best that I could out of a bad situation!’

He hated how desperate he sounded, and hated more the way Augus’ face changed from shock to derision.

‘You _betrayed_ him!’

‘He betrayed you! And you don’t want to blame him for that, because you forgive him, you will _always_ forgive him, because of who and what he is to you! You want a scapegoat because it’s _easier._ Because you like the easy way, Augus. Be angry that I hurt him, but you weren’t there, and you do not understand what it was like.’

He hated how he sounded. This, this sort of thing had never gotten him _anywhere_ in the past. He was complaining. It was whining and unwarranted and filled with pathetic desperation and he loathed it, but he couldn’t stop. He didn’t think he could stand it if Augus tied him to a cross over this, punished him for it. Between waiting for Crielle’s plan and dealing with the weight of the Seelie Court and releasing Augus and all the stupid, _stupid_ feelings he had piling on top of him-

‘I understand perfectly well,’ Augus said coldly.

Gwyn laughed bitterly.

‘Oh, yes, because you too have dealt with a mad King bent on destroying _both_ Kingdoms, have you? Tell me, then, how many fae you’ve had to slaughter because wasting away drove them mad? Tell me, Augus, I want to know. You betrayed _all_ of us. You betrayed the covenant of our kind, you betrayed those fae who _trusted_ you, you betrayed-’

‘I betrayed you,’ Augus snapped. ‘That’s what you want to say, isn’t it? I owed you _nothing.’_

‘I don’t want to be punished for this!’ Gwyn shouted. And he never did this, he never raised his voice like this, and it was...something that had never worked in the past and he didn’t know why he was doing it now. His head was in his hands, he was digging fingers into his scalp. ‘Please, Augus. Please.’

A long silence.

‘Gwyn...’ Augus said, the tone of his voice shifting.

‘Please,’ Gwyn said, hardly aware of it.

‘Gwyn, I’m not sure what you expect from me. _Mercy?_ He is the most innocent out of all of us! And you-’

‘Then you should _never_ have dragged him into your Inner Court! Ever! There is _no_ innocence that can remain in a Court environment, _nothing._ You cursed him the moment you raised his status up like the naive King that you were. What innocence did he have left when he approached _me,_ asking for my help? When he – shattered – turned to someone he did not admire nor respect? And you, _you_ have the _audacity_ to-’

‘Gwyn, wait.’

Augus held up his hands slowly, his eyes were widening, and Gwyn felt a sick, dark rage twisting inside of him, demanding morethan just words.

He grabbed Augus by the forearms, digging his fingers in so hard that Augus made a choked sound. He slammed him against the wall, satisfied by the thud of it, and then pinned Augus’ wrists with a single hand and slipped his other hand between them, between Augus’ legs, snarling when Augus started to struggle. He crushed his lips to Augus’, cutting the inside of his mouth, cutting Augus’, tasting blood, a kiss more teeth than anything. He pulled away, breathing harshly.

‘I am still your King and your captor, and you are still mine to do with as I please.’

Augus shook his head, breathing harshly, trying to twist away from Gwyn’s hands, pulling his wrists, shifting his hips away.

‘Gwyn, _wait.’_

But Gwyn didn’t want to think, didn’t want to wait, remembered a time when he just _took_ from Augus, took and took and took and he was already a rapist now, that’s what he’d become, and it wasn’t as though he could erase that fact. One day Augus would realise the reality of what Gwyn was, and Gwyn would be left with sullied memories. A love that was never perfect or true or warm or even _real._

He worked his hand harder against Augus’ crotch, time passed, Augus wasn’t getting hard. Not even like he had in the past. Gwyn slowed down, confused. In that moment, Augus tore his wrists free of Gwyn’s grip, growling deep.

‘It’s startling how much this doesn’t arouse me,’ he said. ‘Or you, for that matter.’

A hand between his legs, squeezing his limp cock so hard that Gwyn whimpered.

‘See?’ Augus hissed.

Augus’ hand tightened and Gwyn stepped back with a sound that was torn from his throat, feeling trapped; more trapped in this Court than he’d felt since he first arrived. Since the day he’d realised he’d not keep his centre of wildness in an environment like the Court, and mourned it.  

He dug his fingernails into his own palms. Tiny half-moon cuts stinging, he was cold-sweating. He was more terrified than he’d ever been on a battlefield.

‘What would you do with me that hasn’t already been done? Would you have me broken? Kill people? Sacrifice a loved one? Make _me_ sacrifice a... would you make me submit to torture? _What?’_

Augus took a careful step towards him, like Gwyn hadn’t just attacked him, like...

‘Gwyn...’

‘What would you do? It is obvious that you are angry with me, and you would-’

‘Sweetness,’ Augus said, a terrible softness in his voice. Gwyn’s eyes were burning. When had that happened?

_‘Don’t.’_

‘My dear, dear heart.’

Gwyn couldn’t deal with this. Couldn’t deal with any of it. He turned to leave, and there was a stern, powerful hand on his wrist halting him. Fingers threatening pressure points. He tugged hard, and Augus pressed his fingers in. Gwyn whirled back to face him.

‘Let _go.’_

‘You always cry so easily,’ Augus said, with a rueful smile. ‘Am I the only one who knows that? You wear your heart on your sleeve.’

‘Let me _go.’_

‘You first,’ Augus said.

Gwyn’s mouth snapped shut, got his wrist free, but couldn’t move, could only bury his head in his hands, shoulders bowing. And then there was a presence in front of him, an arm coming up, a hand resting on his upper arm.

‘I’m still angry.’

‘You’ll always be angry, and I will always have done something wrong,’ Gwyn said into his fingers. ‘I have lived in this world long enough to know that this is how it goes.’

Arms around him. Gentle. He was shaking. He didn’t know how to stop. This was humiliating. Augus’ fingers were tracing careful lines over his shoulders, and Gwyn was shaking his head over and over again.

‘Sweetness, I don’t want to leave you here,’ Augus said, voice low.

‘But you must,’ Gwyn laughed, stepped away. ‘You must. And you will realise that this has been a way of you making the best of a bad situation. And you will remember that I defeated you, and betrayed your brother, and placed you in a cell, and raped you, and hunted you, and displayed you to my Court, and you will...you will come to your senses.’

Gwyn wouldn’t risk eye contact. But silence grew until it itched at him, and when he looked up furtively, Augus’ lips were pursed, he was watching Gwyn steadily.

‘The assault was mutual,’ Augus said finally, ‘lest we not forget the sounding, among other things. But...otherwise, it may all be so. Gwyn, it may _not_ be. I owe you a debt and I square my debts. You cannot stay here. You will die. You will...not survive this place.’

‘There is no debt!’ Gwyn said, surprised. ‘A life debt? Is this what you mean?’

Augus nodded.

‘But, Augus, you have already saved my life.’

‘Mm, because this looks so very promising,’ he said.

‘No, Augus, I...’ Gwyn stared at him. His hands dropped by his side, limp. ‘Augus, you...that first time. When I visited you. I thought- I thought you _knew_. I had decided, I had decided that if you couldn’t help me, I would...I had _decided._ I didn’t expect to live out the week.’

Augus’ chest stopped moving, he stared.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘I had it planned,’ Gwyn said, remembering. ‘I didn’t expect you’d be able to help me. Augus, I went to an _Unseelie_ fae I had never met before, for help! I didn’t expect, I didn’t expect _help._ I didn’t...I’d heard rumours, I’d heard that you broke people and fixed them. I was, I was broken and I needed fixing. But I-’

‘That is the crudest way I’ve ever heard my skills summarised, I think,’ Augus said drily. And then he winced. ‘You had it planned? You would...what, leave me if I’d not helped you, and that would be it, no more Gwyn ap Nudd?’

‘Please,’ Gwyn said, a flash of a grin taking over his face momentarily. ‘Do you think I hadn’t tried before? I only knew I would be _successful_ this time, and I...’

He didn’t know what else to say. He felt crunched up inside, half-digested, unreal. He felt like he was not quite anyone at all.

‘There is no debt,’ he rasped. ‘You’re clear, Augus. It’s clear. There’s nothing to pay back. You should...spend time with Ash. I’ll give you thirty minutes, but he can’t stay, I’m concerned that Albion or others may have sensed the Soulbond and I need to check. You’ll...see him again soon enough.’

‘Gwyn, you can’t-’

‘You haven’t seen him in too long,’ Gwyn drew himself up straighter, his voice became more abrupt, more crisp. ‘I have matters to attend to. I will come back to escort Ash out, you should attend him and yourself for any possible side effects from the Soulbond, other than those we expected.’

‘Don’t you walk away from- Don’t you _dare_ teleport away from this conversation!’ Augus said, and Gwyn dissolved into light.

Hands reached for him; never made contact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, 'Release': 
> 
> ‘Now, it has to be now,’ Gwyn said. ‘There’s no time for you to take what you’ve packed, if you’ve...packed anything. Ash should be waiting for you. It has to be now.’


	35. Release

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who is commenting, kudosing, getting in touch or just reading and lurking, thank you all so much! It's been a real touchstone while I've been away with family, and I am so excited to be able to bring you some of the content / stuff that is beginning to happen in these chapters.
> 
> Please remember that updates will be every 7/8 days until I return, and will be highly dependent on me having wireless where I'm staying. :D Thank you! And I'm very much looking forward to comments should you want to give them! <3

The mark at his chest wasn’t showing any signs of healing. He shifted, stared at it in the mirror. He could still see small glints of blue on the sigil marked into his skin, as though the thin, fragile orb was simply spread out beneath layers of skin. And above it, a blackened spiderwebbing of magic that felt a little like compressed charcoal, and didn’t smell at all. He couldn’t look at it without expecting to smell burning. But it smelled only of his own scent. He could feel the magic of it vibrating in his very heart, whispering through his cells. He had no fear of forgetting the oath, there was something indelible pressed into his body now, it talked to him. Old Lore felt very different to anything he’d ever experienced before.

He placed his hand over it.

_Permanent. Moron. You shouldn’t have listened to either of them._

He’d been rather overwhelmed by seeing Ash again.

Augus laughed breathlessly. Overwhelmed, bewildered, filled with a rush of adrenaline of the likes he hadn’t felt in...he couldn’t remember how long. Family had kept him who he was. Without Ash, he would have been just another mindless, predatory waterhorse. Any nuances to his nature, any compassion, any capacity for love he had – it was all because of him. Seeing Ash again after such a long absence was a whirlpool woken inside of him, and he yearned for how it would stir him up, help him settle on the right path again.

But instead of making the promise of release seem more real, it felt more surreal than ever. _How_ could it be real? How could this be happening? How could the invisibility, the Soulbond, lead to release? He understood it objectively, but his mind blanked whenever he thought too much on it.

The thing that made it seem most real, more than anything else, was the fact that Gwyn had been cutting him off in the two days that had passed since Ash had left with promises that he would see Augus soon. Outside. _Outside_ of the Seelie Court.

The last meaningful conversation he and Gwyn had revealed far too much about the actual state of Gwyn’s mind. And since then, Augus had sought him out and Gwyn always had things he was attending to. Always disappeared. Augus had threatened, even used pressure points, and Gwyn slipped away so easily that Augus was startled once more into realising how often Gwyn simply chose to _stay_ with him in the past even when Augus was poking and prodding.

But Gwyn wouldn’t distance himself like this if he didn’t think release was imminent. Gwyn didn’t know how to deal with the prospect of Augus’ release; that much was now obvious.

_Stupid fool. Worked so hard for something he can’t handle._

But every time Gwyn slipped away, it was hard not to feel the excitement of release pending. Getting _out._ The Unseelie Court and its soothing halls, its lovely dark spaces, the forests that spoke of night and secrets and stars and constellations. Invisibility to help him wander through the world again. He could hardly imagine it. No – Gwyn was right – there was no such thing as _freedom,_ but there was more than what he had now. He would call it freedom, and simply change the definition in his mind. He would make it work.

He saw how it impacted Gwyn and it ached inside of him, but it wasn’t in his nature to feel very sorry for others.

Except that it _was_ Gwyn. Except that Gwyn had told him about suicide attempts almost casually, that there was no debt because Augus had saved his life, and there was desperation all the way through him. That was a creature so used to captivity, he didn’t know how to begin releasing himself from it. And no one else would help him. He was in _danger._

Excitement eclipsed his worry, especially with Gwyn avoiding his company. But every now and then he felt the way the coarse mark over his chest would brush against the fabric of his shirt, and he would remember not the stress of the Soulbond itself, not the fact that he was now likely to be responsible for his brother’s death simply by _existing,_ not even the fact that the scar was permanent and he would just have to get used to that.

No, he remembered that Gwyn had sought out illegal, profound Old Lore. Had allowed himself to get beaten for two weeks. Had met secretly with Ash, who hated him, _loathed_ him. What more had Gwyn done that Augus didn’t know about?

No one had done so much for him before.

_No one._

*

‘Don’t tell me you have business to attend to, once more,’ Augus said as he leaned against the doorway where Gwyn worked quietly on a map.

How would he explain leaving now? Cartography was a hobby, not a necessity, which meant that Gwyn had nothing urgent to attend at all. It would be so obvious that he was simply _avoiding_ Augus if he ran away. Gwyn tensed, lowered a brush into a glass of water and cleaned it with the same methodical precision as he did most things.

‘They know,’ Gwyn said, without even turning to face him. ‘They sensed it; the Soulbond. They don’t know what it was. I told them I was exploring my aptitude for magic, but in all honesty, there’s not a great deal of magic in the world that can penetrate through the barriers of the Seelie palace and make others aware of it, like the Soulbond. Someone will guess – if not the spell itself, then perhaps that it was Old Lore. They...’

He had nothing else to say. He sounded _exhausted._

‘They? Whom do you refer to?’

‘Albion,’ Gwyn said. ‘Mikaba, a handful of others.’

‘Don’t run away from me,’ Augus said, stepping into the room. He felt that if he wasn’t clear, Gwyn would simply slip away, a shaft of light disappearing underneath a cloud. Gwyn still refused to face him, stared fixedly at the map while Augus approached.

And when Augus slid his hands up Gwyn’s back, curved them over Gwyn’s shoulders, he could feel him trembling.

_You caught, trapped thing._

‘There is a debt between us, whether you like it or not,’ Augus said. ‘You have saved my life more than once. You bound your fate to mine. You fool. There’s nothing I can do for you. I’m going to be hunted forever. No one will forget what I’ve done.’

‘I know,’ Gwyn said, shifting the parchment between his hands. His fingers stilled as Augus squeezed his shoulders, as thumbs sought tense knots and rubbed circles into them. He didn’t relax, he didn’t lean into the touch, but he didn’t reject it either, so Augus continued. It occurred to him that he had never given Gwyn a massage, never properly used his knowledge of pressure points to unknot all that tension, and realised what an oversight it was. He would have to show him, hopefully soon.

‘If you had expended half as much energy into freeing yourself as you have into releasing me, you’d be done with this place.’

‘Don’t be so sure,’ Gwyn said. He tensed further, started to stand. Augus’ hands tightened until the grip had to hurt. ‘I should go.’

‘This is your palace. Where are you going? Can I come? Does the avoidance help? Does it make you feel like you have control over the situation, over your own heart?’

Gwyn said nothing at all. Augus suspected he didn’t even have the vocabulary available to him to have these kinds of conversations. And of course, Augus had said some very cruel things to him when he’d been incensed at the idea of Ash being betrayed. He’d not forgotten what he’d said.

_Is there anyone in the world who doesn’t hate you, once you’re through with them?_

Would he end up hating Gwyn? He hadn’t ever started, he didn’t know if he could. Even locked down in the dimness of that cell, waiting for the Nightmare King to return and gradually realising that the shadows that surrounded him were truly _dead,_ he’d been disgusted, repulsed, pitying...but hatred? It had never been Augus’ way to hate. It required so much energy. Far better to simply push, pull, dig, manipulate. And he’d done that, very well.

He’d underestimated how much he’d been pushed and pulled in turn. His centre had changed. He would tell Ash when he was free.

Maybe one day he’d tell Gwyn.

‘You’re mine,’ Augus said, because it was true.

Gwyn nodded, not the slightest hint of reluctance. That pleased Augus, he wanted to tell Gwyn all the ways in which Augus owned him, watch that calm nod of acceptance.

‘But I am also the Court’s, and they are not yet through with me. Are you...do you have your items packed?’

Augus didn’t want to talk about that.

He didn’t want to talk.

Carefully, he lifted the curls at the back of Gwyn’s neck. They’d been growing out over the past few months, to the point where Augus wondered what it was that ever prompted Gwyn to cut his hair. He probably cut it himself when it got inconvenient. Still, Augus couldn’t bring himself to mind. The scruffiness, the glowing light that hid in the strands of his hair, he’d grown to quite like it. He moved curls of hair through his hand even as he lowered his lips to the vertebrae on the back of his neck. At the very first touch of his mouth against Gwyn’s skin, Gwyn gave a pronounced shudder. Augus closed his eyes and licked a line from the collar of his shirt all the way up to his hairline.

‘Augus...’

His voice was shaky, weak. It was _very_ good. Augus smiled against the gooseflesh he’d wrought.

‘You are _so_ Unseelie. The more I think about it, the more I cannot escape it. You betrayed my brother to defeat me. And then you lied to me when you approached him again, this time with a view to my release. You are deceit and wiliness and a strange cunning, in amongst all that strange Seelie honour you have. I respect it.’

He bit down into the tense flesh where shoulder met neck, and Gwyn moaned softly. Was he even listening to what Augus was saying? Did it matter?

‘I should go,’ Gwyn whispered.

‘Give it time,’ Augus said, forcing cheer to his voice. ‘In a couple of weeks I’ll be gone. You won’t need to avoid me at all.’

Gwyn’s shoulders curled forwards, his spine bent, and Augus felt a flash of something twist up the inside of his own chest. He curved his own hands underneath Gwyn’s arms, until he could hold him as best as he could given the position.

‘You did the right thing,’ Augus whispered.

‘I’m sorry?’ Gwyn said, confused.

‘Defeating me.’

A sharp inhale, and Gwyn was shaking his head, shrugging Augus off, continuing when Augus resisted him. And then Gwyn was standing and across the room and staring at him, horrified.

‘I’m not going to make a habit of saying it often,’ Augus said. ‘But you did.’

‘I have to go,’ Gwyn said, his voice breaking.

Augus opened his mouth, torn between dismay and bemusement.

But Gwyn was an orb of light, then he was gone.

‘Idiot,’ Augus muttered.

He had no idea which one of them he was referring to.

*

Two more days of studious avoidance and Augus was sick of it, but then Gwyn approached him in his rooms, something very, very wrong. Gwyn was paler than usual, pupils dilated, hair awry from fingers raking through it roughly and often. He was breathing quick and shallow. He reeked of fear. It turned all the metal scents of him sharper, made him smell like a smith’s bellows.

Augus was up immediately, his own heart thudding a heavier beat at him.

‘Now, it has to be now,’ Gwyn said. ‘There’s no time for you to take what you’ve packed, if you’ve...packed anything. Ash should be waiting for you. It has to be now.’

Gwyn swallowed roughly, stared hard at Augus, looked like he had something important to say.

Augus was shocked, gripped the back of his chair.

_Now? Not two weeks? What happened? What’s happening in that Court of his? Why doesn’t he tell me_ anything?

‘Augus Each Uisge,’ Gwyn said hurriedly, ‘I, Gwyn ap Nudd, formally release you from the custody of the Seelie Court. You are, as of this moment, no longer my prisoner and no longer under the purview of the Seelie. You are free to resume your life as you see fit.’

It felt like something had unlocked. Something minor, something that didn’t hurt for once, that wasn’t invasive new magic tunnelling inside of him. It was a simple as slipping a button free of its hole, and it was stunning that something that felt so insignificant could have been the binding that it had kept him locked to Gwyn, to the Seelie Court, for all of this time. But there it was, done.

Just like that he was simply an Unseelie guest in the Seelie Court.

He felt nauseous.

‘I have...I have something for you,’ Gwyn said, and Augus felt something breathless steal over him, seeing Gwyn’s anguish. He wanted to reach out, wanted to curve a hand around the back of his head as he would do with Ash. ‘It’s not- It’s this.’

He pulled a charm out of his pocket and handed it to Augus with shaking hands.

‘A charm?’ Augus said, staring at it.

‘Take it with you. I used it...to contact Ash to organise your defeat. Once I used this to take you from your brother. It’s only fair you use it to return to him. He’s waiting for you. Once you’re free of the Court, hold it in your left hand and think of him.’

Augus’ fingers clutched spasmodically over it, he stared down. Could it be so easy, after all this time? Not that any of it was _easy,_ but...would it be that easy?

He looked at Gwyn, the wideness of his eyes, the distress through every line of him. He held the charm, touched. He wanted to take Gwyn with him. He wanted to somehow make him small, bundle him up, yank him from the grip of the Seelie Court and stash him somewhere that no one could find him. Wanted him to walk into the Unseelie Court for the first time and see those galaxies and constellations that swirled above, feel the coolness of the place, the breezes that swept through – cold and mysterious – bringing with it a love of the dark that taught Augus how to overcome most of his fears, until only a terror of complete darkness remained.

‘Come on,’ Gwyn said, stiffly, holding out a hand. ‘There’s a portal waiting for you.’

‘Wait,’ Augus said, losing all the control over his voice he normally had. ‘Wait I...have something for you. I was going to take it with me, I was going to _steal_ it, but it...it’s better if you have it.’

He turned around abruptly, squeezed his eyes shut for a second, two seconds, then shoved sentimentality aside only for it to come creeping back into him. He couldn’t push it away, it was a current that flowed through his blood.

He hissed a curse under his breath, opened the top drawer and pulled out the object, stared at all the books he’d never finish reading.

He turned back, took Gwyn’s fist by his side, uncurled his stiff fingers, placed it down.

The pocket-knife.

The one that Gwyn had used to oath that he would accept aftercare. Augus had taken it. Kept it for himself. Never intended to give it back.

‘A reminder,’ Augus said.

Gwyn stared at it, his eyes filmed over with tears, but none spilled.

‘A reminder to look after yourself...’

In response, Gwyn’s hand clenched around the pocket-knife, and with the other he dug his fingers into Augus’ shoulder and they teleported away.

*

They were still within the Seelie Court, he could feel it. But these were the outer edges. The land here was rough, wild. There was a shimmering portal of energy in front of him.

‘It’s mine,’ Gwyn said. ‘Every King has-’

‘I remember,’ Augus said. ‘Every King or Queen has one. I remember. Where will it take me?’

‘Neutral forest. Warded forest. As warded as it can be under short notice. Call Ash to you. He will come. There is a lake, he can teleport.’

They were staring at each other, Augus didn’t know how to just _leave._ Months of dreaming about this moment, yearning for it desperately, and he didn’t know how to just walk through a portal and leave this trapped, caged creature behind.

‘Fuck,’ Augus said, laughing. ‘Fuck, this was faster than I expected.’

_‘Go,_ Augus,’ Gwyn said, looking behind him, as though any moment, he expected...what?

‘Do they know? Do they know what you’ve done?’

‘No,’ Gwyn said. ‘No, I don’t know. Crielle has done several things today that...I don’t know if her centre is appearance anymore. I don’t know what she’ll do. You have to go. You have to stay in the Unseelie Court for a time. A week. Use your invisibility. Use it now. Don’t reveal yourself to anyone but Ash.’

‘You’re panicking.’

‘You _must_ go! _’_

Gwyn’s voice was suddenly stern, full of a command Augus hadn’t heard from him since he was defeated in the cavern. It was frightening, it made him scared for Gwyn, scared for himself. He turned back and stared at the portal, his heart aching so fiercely inside of his chest he would have thought he was ill, if it wasn’t for the fact that Gwyn was standing before him and he knew why it hurt. He turned back, leaned up and pressed his lips against Gwyn’s, keeping his mouth closed, returning one of the kisses that Gwyn had been giving to him for so long.

And then he leaned back, let the invisibility bloom through him, let it take him completely and mask his scent.

He turned and ran through the portal, almost turned back when he heard it:

‘Augus?’ Soft, tremulous. Checking to see if he was even there. Gwyn wouldn’t know.

But it was too late, the portal closed around him.

He was unarmed, bare-foot, had nothing to his name but a charm in his hand.

He was free.

*

Ash was already waiting for him, hair cut back to its normal length – _by the gods, what a relief_ – and a goofy smile on his face despite lines around his eyes. Augus wasn’t even visible yet. There he was smiling in anticipation, despite looking around nervously.

But Ash looked exhausted; for Ash would have expected Augus in his company on the very day Augus was defeated, and Augus had since realised why Ash looked so worn, so tired, so _ruined._ But even so, there was an eager welcome in his hazel eyes, a warmth to his smile. Seeing it outside of the Seelie Court was something he’d thought was an impossibility.

His mind had told him _never._

He let go of the invisibility, and Ash’s eyes widened. Augus smiled slyly. Ash didn’t know about that. And he couldn’t help but feel somewhat proud of it, exhausting as it was. Maintaining the invisibility for more than about ten minutes taxed him terribly. He didn’t know if he still needed to grow into it, or if it just required that much of his innate power.

‘So, that’s cool,’ Ash said.

‘It will come in handy, I expect,’ Augus said, still holding the charm in his hand.

They looked at each other, Ash still with that goofy smile, and Augus felt the smile disappear from his own face. His mind had told him _never, never, never._ He was afraid. He’d not had Ash in his life for so long, none of it seemed real.

‘Hey,’ Ash said. ‘Hi.’

Augus’ breathing was coming faster, he thought he might be shaking. Suddenly it didn’t occur to him to scan his surroundings, to care about anything else. He stared at Ash and felt as though a dam was being picked apart inside of him. Stone by stone – it wasn’t only that he had been captive for a year – it was that...

It was all the years before it; the nightmares, the monster in the dark, _everything._

‘Oh, hey,’ Ash said. ‘Come here.’

Ash walked up to him and looped easy arms around him, though it hadn’t been easy for years. The last time Ash had been able to embrace him like this and Augus had properly allowed it, had been before.

_Before._

He _was_ shaking. He could feel it in the constraint of Ash’s arms.

‘You’re out,’ Ash said quietly. ‘I don’t care what that fucker has planned. You’re out. You’re here. It’s okay, Augus. It’s been a long time coming, but here you are, like the clever motherfucker you are.’

Augus pressed his face into Ash’s shoulder, squeezed his eyes shut, dropped the charm so that he could wrap both of his arms around Ash and dig his fingers into his skin, pressing too hard, hurting him. He couldn’t stop. Ash exhaled in pain, but then his arms simply squeezed tighter, he pressed his cheek to the side of Augus’ head, he was dripping water into Augus’ hair like he used to when they were younger.

‘Hey,’ Ash was saying. ‘I’ve got you. Look at me, I’m King of the fucking Unseelie fae. Score!’

He was joking, his voice light, and Augus’ shoulders shifted in a small, weak laugh. But he wouldn’t let go, and when Ash started rubbing circles into his back as Augus used to do to him when he was younger, he was torn between pulling away and saying he didn’t need that, and knowing that it would be a lie, he had missed this. _Missed_ Ash. For the longest time, he thought he’d been left behind and that Ash had moved on.

He thought all he’d done had finally alienated his brother. That there were things he could do that would drive him away after all.

In the cell, he’d wondered if he’d even see him again. But his mind had whispered _never._

‘Wow, Augus,’ Ash said, voice shaky, losing its humour. ‘Anyone would think you’ve been caught in a prison of your worst enemies for a year.’

His eyes were burning, reality was pressing in. Free and Ash right here and Gwyn stuck in the Seelie Court behind some portal and nothing of stability in his future. Ever again. The life he’d wanted for himself, the perfect, idyllic life he’d created; _gone._

_You cut a pathetic figure right now, given your reputation._

Augus tried to step away, but Ash’s arms tightened, and Augus found himself actually being hushed. He resisted for several seconds, then went limp, Ash supporting his weight as he sagged.

Ash smelled of pollution and silt and mud. A body pushed to extremes with alcohol and poor eating habits. It was homely.

‘I’ve missed you,’ Ash said. His hand crept up, cupped the back of his head in a gesture so old, so ancient, that Augus thought he might lose himself in thousands of years of memories that poured upon each other at once. Things he’d been holding away became undammed, flowing freely now. It hurt more than it made him happy, but he needed it all the same.

‘I, also,’ Augus said.

‘I feel like I haven’t seen you in years.’

‘You haven’t,’ Augus breathed. ‘Not for years. I lost my way, Ash. I got so _lost.’_

He swallowed, the act painful, made a small sound at the admission.

‘I’m sorry, brother,’ Augus said into his shirt. ‘Not for what I’ve done. You know me, not that. But I am sorry for how I...dragged you into it. For making you a part of it. For-’

‘I did that,’ Ash said. ‘I chose to do that. You didn’t make me do anything I didn’t want to do. Don’t you know I would’ve followed you anywhere just to make sure you were safe? Jesus, Augus. _Anywhere._ What was a few little shadows and a bit of evil and mayhem? I got to keep an eye on you. I don’t care about any of that, and, Augus, that’s saying something, because I... _know_ some of the things you’ve done. I know. Gwyn was very honest with me. As much as he can be about anything.’

Augus opened his eyes, turned his head, stared out towards the forest.

_Ah._

‘Then I’m not sorry at all,’ Augus said, tone petulant, ‘since you’re so okay with it.’

Ash laughed, threaded fingers through his hair, tugged on waterweed gently.

‘Good. Don’t be sorry. Fuck sorry. Don’t let those Seelie fuckers get to you. No apologies, remember? Just come _home._ Here, I’ll help you. Look at what I can do, Augus. It’s pretty nifty.’

Ash took a deep breath.

‘I, Ash Glashtyn, awesome brother and King of the Unseelie fae, hereby revoke Augus Each Uisge’s status of whatever...class of fae you are right now, and raise you to the status of Inner Court.’

Augus’ eyes narrowed. _Oh great, yet another moment of power flooding in, I’m starting to think-_

Then it happened, the green, generous swirl of it. Oh, he hadn’t felt like this since the Raven Prince raised him up to the status of Inner Court, and it still felt just as good. He hummed out through the back of his throat, feeling green flares sparking and singing inside of him. It would take a full twenty four hours for his powers to come back, but there they were, ropes and rivers and currents of the stuff, coming back to him, flowing through the land, making his body stronger, his mane thicker, more waterweed sprout from his hair.

Augus laughed darkly.

‘Gulvi won’t like this at all.’

‘Oh, yeah, uh, yeah I have some...we have some ground rules. This is not going to be fucking easy.’

*

They didn’t go first to the Unseelie Court, as Augus expected. Instead, they dove into the lake Gwyn had said was nearby, together. Ash used his own teleportation because Augus was so out of practice, despite the fact that riding with Ash was bumpy and jolting. Augus realised he had grown very used to the smooth blend of Gwyn’s teleportation; better even than his own. And through the water they’d rushed, turning to liquid and silt together until finally they came out the other side, and Augus found himself being helped up out of a lake not in the Unseelie Court.

A lake he didn’t recognise.

Weeping willows grew in a stand to the left, some branches long enough to stroke the water’s surface, sending out constant, small ripples. Water rushes grew healthily in several clumps, masking the frogs that croaked sedately within them. He could hear crickets, including a rare, fae species of golden cricket that sounded its dull, bell call. Tiny church bells ringing all around. It was green, not quite healthy, but certainly with the potential to be. Augus looked in all directions, trying to get his bearings.

‘Where are we?’

‘You said you wanted a home. I hope you’ll forgive me, Augus. I sort of cheated and used my power as King to allocate you some land. So-’

Augus’ mouth dropped open. He gasped and stepped away from Ash, fingers splaying.

‘Wait, fuck, wait a minute though,’ Ash said. ‘You can’t use it now. It doesn’t have a home in it yet. It’s warded but it’s not _safe._ Don’t get, don’t get too excited. Okay? It’s, I don’t even know if it meets your requirements. I just need a lake. You tend to like something, I don’t know, with morning sun and fucking trees and shit.’

And then Ash took a deep, shuddering breath and Augus staggered backwards as Ash launched himself into him, arms wrapping so tightly they squeezed the air from him.

‘Are you alright? Are you? You seem fine but I don’t believe you anymore, you can’t keep protecting me from what you’re going through. I’ve had enough. I’ve- Brother, you don’t understand. Are you alright? What did he do to you? That _fucker._ Tell me what you want done to him. I smashed his cheekbone apart like it was nothing. Jesus, I could take him. I really could. Let me take him. Tell me you want to go to war over this and I’ll fucking do it.’

Augus stared, arms still held up stiffly by his sides, bracing his brother’s weight. Ash was growling now, he could sense it in the lower registers of his hearing. He lowered his arms around his brother carefully, torn between amusement at the Unseelie Court going to war with Gwyn over a misunderstanding, and a vague displeasure when he realised that – at some point – he was going to have to try and argue for Gwyn, with _Ash._ He felt uncomfortably like he was taking sides, and he knew it wasn’t true, that Ash didn’t understand, but would he even if Augus tried to explain everything? It didn’t seem promising.

Not only that, but he couldn’t simply say, ‘he’s Unseelie.’ That blood-oath he’d made for Gwyn was strong, and Augus himself had tried to eliminate all loopholes, and now he was stuck with Gwyn’s secret as much as Gwyn was.

‘Ash,’ Augus said, tasting his name in his mouth again. ‘Brother, I am...as alright as I can be, and better than I thought I would be. As for Gwyn...’

Augus disengaged, looked around at the lake that Ash had allocated to him. It was bittersweet. It was a beautiful location in the fae world, premium land. It meant that his own lake was officially gone and not available to him. His home was no more. Millennia of history likely destroyed. Had it been all at once? Or had it been ruined in stages?

And had he really only been out of the Seelie Court for less than an hour?

He could still feel the weight of Gwyn’s fingers pressing the charm into his hand. Still feel his lips against his own – wished, actually, that he’d tasted him with his tongue. Realised what a waste the last four days had been, Gwyn avoiding him so often.

‘Gwyn is not what you think,’ Augus said. ‘I know you are disinclined to believe me, because he betrayed you. Ash, look at me. Look at how healthy I am. Look at what he did to release me.’

‘He is a _monster_ who plays a _long_ game,’ Ash snarled. ‘And you’ve fallen for headcases before, brother.’

‘No benefit of the doubt then? No trust?’ Augus said, feeling a flare of anger inside of him.

Ash hesitated.

‘I blindly believed you all my life,’ Ash said finally. ‘And that got you kidnapped and hurt. I don’t blindly believe _anything,_ anymore.’

‘You grew up, then,’ Augus said, and only realised from the way Ash’s brows knitted together, that he’d made it sound like an accusation.

‘Augus, I thought you were _dead,’_ Ash said hoarsely. ‘I thought, when he dropped you down to underfae, that he’d killed you. And then when he took you away, I knew he _would._ It was just fucking fortune, at least for me, that it seemed you were surviving. But I heard nothing about you at all for six months. Six months, Augus, they could have been lying to us. We weren’t allowed to see you. He wouldn’t cut waterweed from your head even, to prove that you were still alive. Gulvi said she didn’t know what to believe. And he _lies._ You know, he’d just proven himself as a liar when he betrayed me. I didn’t mourn, exactly, but...Augus, I’ve never gone through something like that before, and I’ve always taken the worst things I’ve been through to _you_. I was...’

Ash swallowed, laughed roughly.

‘I still don’t know what my fucking centre is but I’m pretty sure I nearly lost it.’

‘It’s still there,’ Augus said quietly.

It would always be there, and he would never tell Ash, and – he hoped – Ash would never guess it. It was lovelier unknown. Also, Augus liked knowing something that Ash didn’t.

‘Mine’s changed,’ Augus said.

Ash stepped back in shock, irises ringed with white.

‘The fuck?’ Ash said.

Ash had never been good at picking out centres; anyone’s. Perhaps all that time with humans, who didn’t really have them. Augus wasn’t sure. But it meant that he got to announce it now, got to surprise him with it. Because he was proud of this one. His old centre, dominance, he’d always appreciated and cared for it. He loved what he’d turned it into, centres weren’t there to be passively accepted, but used and grown and nourished.

But this one, it had so much potential.

‘Balance,’ Augus said.

‘What?’ Ash laughed, a helpless, disbelieving sound.

‘You heard me, I’m not saying it again.’

‘Balance? Between what and what?’

‘Whatever I like,’ Augus said. ‘Whatever I want. Whatever I think it should be.’

‘How? How did you end up with something like- After everything you’ve- But you’ve had the other one since, I dunno, _forever?’_

‘I’ve been through some trials lately,’ Augus said lightly. ‘My priorities have obviously changed. For the better, I think.’

He paused as he felt a frisson of power move up through the middle of his spine. The Inner Court power was still growing inside of him, and every now and then it bloomed bright and hot and emerald, a flash of dark confidence and the need to stalk prey and consume it. And then he realised he was _hungry._

‘Brother,’ Augus gasped. ‘I’m going to need to _hunt._ I’ve managed to feed on one human, but I need more. Can we get all of this out of the way sooner rather than later, please? Inner Court status, I need fuel for it.’

‘Oh, Jesus fuck, yeah, yeah. Jesus, you should have seen how I hunted in the first few months after becoming King. I mean sure some of that was probably influenced by like...’ Ash laughed, ‘by like all of _this._ But fuck. Yeah, I remember how you had to as well. Okay, alright, ready to see Gulvi?’

Augus grimaced.

‘On a scale of one to ten, what are her feelings on my having killed her family?’

‘Twelve and you’re lucky we have the Soulbond because wow it’s hard to be friends with someone who has so many revenge fantasies about killing your brother. We’re not doing so great anyway lately. Fucking...things have not been easy, Augus.’

Augus had a hundred questions, he wanted to ask _everything._ Why weren’t things going well with Gulvi? Augus had at least hoped Ash had a constant support in her while he was captive. And what was happening in the Unseelie Court, and when could he come back to his lake and when could he hunt and why did he suddenly feel like he needed to check if it was okay to do these things when he had never really checked with Gwyn and he was the _King_ of the Seelie Court? And how would he convince Ash that Gwyn wasn’t terrible, when Augus wasn’t sure how he wanted to play that in the first place? Perhaps it might work in his favour for Ash to keep hating him, he didn’t know. He couldn’t see a clear strategy for himself.

He could see strategies for Gwyn and his Court. But now that he was released, he was back to the muddiness of trying to foresee his own life and failing.

It was already so different between he and Ash. He’d been the older brother all his life, not opening up about his own issues, trying to be mature and strong for him. And then after he’d been kidnapped by the...by the Nightmare King, he’d been imperial and commanding and cold, expected Ash to just fall into line with anything he wanted. He couldn’t connect with him, because opening his heart to Ash _hurt._ It opened all the poisoned places inside of him.

The first time he truly felt connected with him again, was – Augus paled to think of it – when Ash had slipped on that frost spirit’s ice, he’d been worried he was going to hurt himself. Could already see how hurt he’d been. How hurt Augus had made him.

Things couldn’t go back to the way they were, but he didn’t know where they were headed in the future.

‘I’m not entirely sure,’ Augus said, hesitantly, ‘I’m not entirely sure what to do. I’m not going to apologise to Gulvi. I’m aware she is a close friend, a co-Queen. I’m not even sure I can be in the same room with her without being _myself._ ’

_Listen to yourself, sounding as hesitant as the great, golden fool himself. You should be ashamed, you dimwitted waterhorse._

‘Fuck apologies,’ Ash said. ‘I don’t think what you did was okay, but fuck ‘em. And you being yourself again would be a welcome change. Look, we’ll handle it.’

Ash reached out a hand to touch Augus’ hair, pulled back at the last moment.

Things were still awkward. Augus hadn’t allowed Ash to touch him for years. After the initial, generous embraces, everything was uncomfortable again. It was a flash of pain inside of him.

_Ah, yes, all those times he tried to reach out to you and you slammed the proverbial door in his face. I suppose you have now reached the ‘there are consequences to your actions’ part of your life._

After maintaining a sober eye contact for a little while longer, Ash simply shrugged and then offered a flash of a smile.

‘Come on, brother. I’ll race you to the Unseelie Court.’

And with that he turned and ran, diving fluidly into the water. Augus exhaled a breath of laughter and then followed, walking to the bank of the lake that was supposedly his, diving in easily, the water sliding over him and pulling him down to his brother.

A hand wrapped around his wrist, and they were teleporting through currents once more, becoming as ephemeral as strings of bubbles in the deep.

*

Augus stilled when he pulled himself up out of Ash’s lake.

Nothing had changed since his reign.

‘Please tell me you were both not so unoriginal that you left the Palace’s design as my own,’ Augus said.

He’d forgotten. He’d _forgotten._ He’d been expecting the peace of the Raven Prince’s Court. Not this.

It was a design that haunted him. He’d deformed the Raven Prince’s Court as much as possible when he became King, to not be reminded of...any of that time. He’d made the place hostile and dark and unfriendly. Turned it into a place that repelled Unseelie Court members, then dismissed the rest when they persisted. For the Unseelie liked the dark, but they disliked being treated with such blatant hostility by their own alignment. They were so ostracised by the Seelie, by humans, that to be ostracised by their own was great, unwarranted insult.

He looked up at blackened tree-branches, blackened leaves, constellations above, shuddered. He’d not spent the best years of his life in the Court, and he was surprised that even with the welcoming Unseelie energy, he felt adrift.

‘Uh,’ Ash said, looking around. ‘No, none of it. We never got around to it. Augus, we’re trying to rebuild a destroyed Kingdom here, and by we, I mean pretty much only Gulvi, and she’s got a sister to look after, too.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Augus said. A sister?

‘You...didn’t know,’ Ash said, realising. ‘Yeah, Julvia survived. But she’s in a bad way. Look, Augus, the Unseelie Kingdom is not what it used to be. We’re kind of...there’s no spare money or wealth in the treasury. You burnt through a ton of it, and we’ve needed to make some reparations too. There’s income coming in, so we’re breaking even, I guess? But we’re really fucking broke. We can’t afford to hire an army, and the only people fighting for us are people that Gulvi trusts. And that’s not an army, that’s just a band of fucking assassins, pretty much. We have no military. We have no...Inner Court – aside from you, which Gulvi’s gonna be ecstatic about. We have a very fragile Court and Outer Court, but things are-’

‘Wait,’ Augus said faintly. ‘Wait.’

He didn’t know what he’d expected. That everything would be fine and ideal and Ash would help him and he would help Ash and he’d needle at Gulvi because that’s what he _did?_ That the Unseelie Court would be running as smoothly as it had when the Raven Prince had looked after it? That he’d hunt and swim in a lake and think of ways of getting Gwyn out of the Seelie Court and it would be...if not easy, then at least, not this.

‘Wait,’ he heard himself say again.

‘I’m sorry, man. I’m sorry it’s not better. Things are hard right now.’

‘I’m getting that impression,’ Augus said.

The Unseelie Court was _broke?_ Through various income streams, including outright theft from Seelie fae, the Unseelie Court had been incredibly wealthy when he’d stolen it from the Raven Prince. It had been the wealthiest Court in millennia. On par with Titania’s Court. Augus could hardly remember where all that wealth had gone. Only that, apparently, it _was_ gone.

A Court couldn’t run properly, broke. They _were_ vulnerable.

And none of it had changed. It looked the way it looked when the Nightmare King walked its corridors. Augus shivered and turned away from Ash, wishing for...something he didn’t quite have a name for.

He wondered if Gwyn was still standing like an idiot in the corridor where he’d left him.

Wondered if Crielle was still doing whatever it was that she’d started doing. Gwyn hadn’t told him. Augus hadn’t pushed. He should have pushed. He _always_ pushed.

‘Hey,’ Ash said quietly. ‘Hey, you’re not looking so great.’

‘I’m adjusting,’ Augus said, crisp. Ash’s expression fell, hurt painted his features and Augus realised he was defaulting to behaviours that he’d learned in order to cope with what had happened after he’d been taken by the Nightmare King. He’d sworn to himself while he was Gwyn’s prisoner that he wouldn’t use them on Ash again. Not if he could help it. And he could help it now, even if it was hard. ‘Ash, this isn’t what I expected. I’ve been living a very sheltered life for some time. I don’t like this Court. I don’t like the way it looks. I especially don’t like what it reminds me of.’

Ash took a step towards him, another step. Each was stilted. Finally Ash stood in front of him. Carefully he reached up and eased the palm of his hand around the back of Augus’ head, increasing the pressure slowly. Augus closed his eyes, breathed out hard.

‘Easy,’ Ash said. ‘I’ll tell you what’s gonna happen. We’re gonna see Gulvi, we might as well get that out of the way. Then you’re gonna hunt and digest and that’ll take about a week. That’ll give me time to talk to Gulvi and make her less likely to murder you. Trust me when I say that her reaction to the Soulbond was like ridiculously bad, _insanely_ bad. I can’t blame her. But wow, man, you are fucked. There’s only so much damage control I can do there. So, a week in a lake digesting, that’s something we could all use right now. You can use my lake in the Court, the one out there isn’t safe yet. And I don’t need it.’

The hand at the back of his head rubbed slowly and Augus leaned into it, feeling like he was under a spell. The gesture changed everything. His brain started dumping calming chemicals through him, they trickled down the back of his spine, along his nervous system, pooled hot and warm in his belly. He listened to the dripping of their hair, and an owl nearby, hooting musically. He could hear his and Ash’s breathing. And Ash’s hand was broad and cool from the water and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d let Ash calm him like this. Only that he’d wanted him to for years and refused it.

‘Balance, hey?’ Ash said. ‘I like it. What’s my centre?’

An old game they’d always played, and Augus – hating himself for being so sentimental – felt his eyes burn once more.

‘Perfection,’ Augus said.

‘Aw, you smoothie.’

And with that, Ash cuffed him lightly on the back of the head, and Augus’ eyes opened and he smirked. Ash laughed at him, turned and walked away, crown still attached to his head – it must be pinned in place, he realised – making his way through the corridors with a familiarity that hurt him.

After all, Ash had never wanted to get used to this place, didn’t even like it.

*

The throne room looked almost identical to how Augus had left it when he went to confront a frost spirit, what felt like a century ago – it had only been about a year. It was a dark, suffocating place. The Nain Rouge’s unused throne of broken bones tied with rope, next to Augus’ grand, carved, wooden one, the Dullahan’s rustic chair fallen to the side where he’d left it after using it once, not being able to handle so many others around him at once. Ash’s spinning office chair from the human world was startlingly out of place, still there, but it looked like it had been moved. Jenny Greenteeth’s throne had rotted away, made out of plant-life that had be constantly regenerated by her magic. And there in the corner, the Nightmare King’s throne, a twisted, misshapen thing, tilted back against the wall where he’d...tipped it himself, hadn’t he?

He wished for Ash’s hand on the back of his head. Wished for the Raven Prince’s Court.

Laughed silently at himself, because he’d done all of this.

Augus tore his eyes away from all of it as Gulvi stalked towards them quickly, platinum blond hair pulled back from her head in a fierce queue, bound in red leather. She wore leather pants slit up the sides and laced loosely with sinew for ease of movement. Her curved daggers rested at her hips. Her shirt was a flash of cream material, matching the creamy-whiteness of her great wings. She was taller than Augus, than Ash, and she cut an imposing figure as her boots clicked towards them.

He grinned at her.

Gulvi grinned back, hatred and malice flashing in her swan’s gaze. Her clawed fingers curled.

‘La, well, I have been to see this Mage that Ash saw, and so I believe this Soulbond is real, and I shall not _test_ it. Which, Ash, darling, I know is the _point._ So, waterhorse, I cannot say it’s good to see you again, do you have _anything_ to say for yourself?’

‘I like what you’re wearing,’ Augus smirked, and Ash blew out a low, disappointed breath next to him.

‘Augus,’ he said softly.

‘It was a compliment,’ Augus said, and then felt a darkness rise inside of him while staring at Gulvi. Here it was. He’d warned Ash, he couldn’t help himself. He was Unseelie. And squaring off against a predator like this felt good. He could see a gleam of something in Gulvi’s eyes too. Something triumphant alongside the hatred. Was it her Unseelie nature? Was it something else?

‘A compliment from a bedraggled, drenched waterhorse. How flattering,’ Gulvi preened. She grinned sharp teeth at him. ‘I have something for you.’

‘Is it a status upgrade? I can’t go much higher at this point.’

A flash of silver, and the knife was buried in his gut faster than he could see it coming. Ash cried out in shock and Augus was on his knees, hands around it, blood not yet pouring from the wound because the knife stoppered it. It wasn’t agony. Not yet. But he could feel how it would be. He stared at Ash in horror.

‘You’ve killed him!’ he gasped. Ash was staring at him, terrified, but still _standing,_ not collapsed or crying out in pain.

‘I’m _trained,’_ Gulvi spat. ‘Ash shall be fine. La! It’s not _fatal._ And you, my darling. That is for my sister.’

She started to walk away as Ash fell by his side, hands hovering around the knife buried hilt deep inside of him.

A pulse of something sickening, and there it was. _Pain._ Augus made a thin, high noise in the back of his throat.

‘Gulvi!’ Ash shouted.

‘I thought...’ Augus wheezed. ‘You had _sisters._ More than one. _’_

‘Sweetheart, yes,’ Gulvi said, smiling sweetly as she turned around. ‘That is why I have more than one knife with your name on it, darling.’

Augus knew he shouldn’t laugh, should stop himself from laughing as Gulvi walked away. Her great wings drew in tight against her back to make it easier as she walked through a doorway and down a corridor still – no doubt – twisted with Augus’ vision of what he wanted the Unseelie Court to look like. He could see Ash’s eyes panicked and worried, ancient fears on his face, could feel pain racketing through him. But it wasn’t fatal, it wasn’t killing his brother, it hadn’t activated the Soulbond, he would heal, he was Inner Court...this was all-

-He could handle this, he realised, as he passed out.

He could handle anything, these days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, 'Demotion:' 
> 
> ‘Send a missive to the Unseelie Court once this is done,’ Albion said crisply to the soldiers following alongside. ‘Check to see if the Each Uisge is truly there.’


	36. Demotion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the chapter you've all been waiting for, or dreading, or perhaps not waiting for, or like idly anticipating. *grins* No new tags for this one, but please take care of yourself, since it is an emotional clusterfuck. For those who weren't aware, you can also find me and all manner of _Game Theory_ fanart, fanfiction and asks being answered over at [my Tumblr](http://not-poignant.tumblr.com/). :) Apologies for any errors in this chapter, I can't edit properly on a laptop and my internet right now is terrible. I'll go through properly when I get back to Perth. It should be mostly okay. It HAS been edited, I just like to do more than one or two pass-throughs before a chapter goes up. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who is reading and commenting and kudosing and bookmarking and subscribing and so on. You guys are the BEST. Everyone is the best. I'm sick at the moment, and I'm just very grateful for all of you.

The trows looked at the deeds to hidden, giant piles of silver mournfully. Gwyn couldn’t tell if it was because he was paying them a severance, or if it was because he simply hadn’t hidden it for them to steal.

He was kneeling in their own quarters, hair brushing the dirt ceiling, knees hurting on the floor. They crowded around him, all the ones working that day. He saw the two that had befriended Augus and smiled weakly at them. He had become close to all of these trows, in his own way. They didn’t tell him their names – they were very secretive about names – but they had tried to anticipate his needs and they had cared for him, and they were amazing cooks. They had done far more than tolerate him, like the rest of the Court. Once he’d mentioned in passing to another fae that he liked stews, a week later the trows added a huge complement of stews and curries and casseroles alongside everything else they made for him.

‘My friends,’ Gwyn said, ‘I wish it could be stolen, but I do not have the time. This is...several centuries worth of silver that I have amassed over the years. High quality. I do not care what you do with it, only that it is yours, for your service. For I do not know that I will be here much longer, and I do not think any future royalty will keep you on as staff, which is their loss, just as you have been my gain.’

One of the trows placed a spindly hand on Gwyn’s wrist, looking at him. Forehead knotted more than it usually was.

A few signed to each other. They had two languages. The one they signed to Gwyn they used rarely. The one they signed to each other was unintelligible and – Gwyn suspected – changed often so that no one could interpret it. They used that more often. They were secretive, introverted folk. But for their love of trow-henks – their sociable dances – they would likely not have much to do with other fae species at all. As it was, Gwyn couldn’t understand their language. He had tried many times.

It had been a week since Augus was gone, a week of the Court situation rapidly dissolving in front of him. At first he’d tried being more present, but something was wrong. Crielle didn’t want him there, and for once seemed to be happy to indicate to others that he had no place in _her_ Court.

It had led to a confrontation that had changed everything – his idea of keeping Augus longer, his notions of his own safety within the Court, _everything._

She’d followed him into the meet-room and closed the door behind her, locking it, and when she turned back to him he noticed there was a curl out of place on the top of her head. Not deliberately dishevelled, but actually out of place. She looked as lovely as ever, so he doubted anyone else would have noticed. But Crielle – for the first time in living _memory_ –had something out of place and wasn’t rushing to fix or alter her appearance and make everything flawless once more.

‘Are you here to threaten me again?’ Gwyn asked calmly. ‘To throw emotion at me and watch me baulk?’

‘You have so much arrogance,’ Crielle said, in a voice quite unlike her own usual rich, nuanced way of speaking. ‘Your centre of triumph gave it to you. But you were always brash, and always quick to disobey.’

‘I don’t recall that was true throughout much of my childhood,’ Gwyn said, bristling at the notion.

‘No?’ Crielle raised an arch eyebrow. ‘You know what you are. Do you think were as obedient as any child with the right alignment would have been?’

Gwyn stiffened. His eyes flickered around the room. There was no one there, not even the trows. His heart was pounding. When he looked back to Crielle, there was a cruel half-smile on her lips, and she carefully tucked the waylaid curl back into her hair.

‘You found ways,’ she said, walking over and joining him. Gwyn resisted the urge to rear back from her. His life with Crielle had been petty torture after petty torture. Needles left in his clothing, slivers of metal waiting in his boots, venomous spiders in his bed, snakes curled around the pulls of his curtains. And sometimes it had been outright torture, as she flung positive emotion after positive emotion at him, reminding him of all that he would never have, did not deserve.

‘Feel like reminiscing?’

‘All those times you ran away from Efnisien,’ Crielle said, pouting.

‘He was _torturing_ me.’

‘It was your due,’ Crielle said, smiling beatifically.

Gwyn wondered what Augus would say to that.

‘It had no purpose, it was _torture._ I was fodder for his centre, because I was safer than the hounds and the horses.’

‘Yes, darling. They make noise when you torture them.’

Gwyn ground his teeth together, stood up abruptly. He’d always been proud of himself for not making any noise, for _learning_ how to stay quiet when Efnisien tortured him. It never occurred to him that it might have been a discussion point between Crielle and Efnisien. That it was a convenience.

Crielle stood up smoothly, placed a gentle hand on his arm. Gwyn’s skin turned to gooseflesh. She noticed, rubbed it lovingly.

‘Sit,’ she said softly. ‘Sit and talk with your mother. Don’t give me a reason to make your life more miserable than I have to.’

‘And how are you going to do that, now that your tools are dead?’ Gwyn said, just as quietly. ‘Now that Lludd is dead – fallen on a sword like someone green to the field, a _humiliating_ accident. Now that Efnisien lies in pieces in the Caves of Argoth, eaten by gods only know what? You always liked working through others, didn’t you? Through your poisons and venomous animals and little knives and of course other people.’

She stared at him with a blue, disarming gaze. It hid a combination of shock, cruelty, delight. This was a game to her. It had always been a game.

He stepped away and she let him, but he found himself unable to leave, paralysed in her presence. It had been decades of having her rule and ruin his life. She wasn’t predictable like Lludd. She didn’t only care about ruthlessness or discipline. Her cruelty was free-wheeling and didn’t have a purpose. Unlike Efnisien, she had been at the estate, and now the Court, almost every day. He could hardly escape her.

‘You killed your own mother and father when you were a child,’ Gwyn said, meeting her gaze with a steadiness that was a lie both of them were familiar with. ‘Lludd is dead. Efnisien. Are you so determined to eliminate the last family you have left?

‘You are not _family.’_

‘I came from your womb. I bear your hair, your skin, more even. I am clearly your child.’

Crielle raised an arm to strike him. Gwyn flinched hard even as she restrained herself, she laughed at him. Gwyn resisted the urge to smash the table they were standing by in two. He could face down monstrous fae on a battlefield unflinching, but she could raise a hand to him and he was terrified.

‘You’re not mine,’ Crielle said. ‘You may have stolen from our family legacy, you may have parasitised our reputation, you may have even exploited and ruined the things about our appearance that make us – not _you_ – beautiful. But you are not, you have _never_ been mine. If you felt a short, sharp shock when you came into the world, my darling, it was my hands around your throat while your father tried to pull me off you.

‘Imagine, if you will, my dear, reprehensible _thing_. Imagine the first time you came back to me after we sent you away to play with Efnisien. Oh you were only twelve or thirteen? What a lovely idea that was. And Efnisien had you for hours. I told him to use _knives._ He liked them so, and he didn’t think he’d be allowed. So precious. And I heard the distant echo of your screams like a faint, familiar melody all throughout my day. A time when they stopped because he gagged you perhaps? Or your voice gave out? Tsk. He is – _was –_ so crude. But still...effective. And do you remember? Oh, my creature, imagine it...

‘You came home hours later, hours after Efnisien. You were broken and cut and bleeding and so, _so_ ruined. And you stumbled into the house, and there I was waiting for you. Breathless, actually. And you stared at me as though I would – what? – tell you that Efnisien had crossed a line, gone _too far?_ Do you remember what I did?’

Gwyn swallowed, sickened. He did remember. He remembered that day very clearly. He became inured to torture over time, he wasn’t born used to it. And that day had humiliated him. He’d screamed and begged and cried and whimpered, been all the things he’d sworn to never be again. He’d been broken under Efnisien’s knives, Efnisien had laughed at him, and the worst part...dragging himself home and expecting...

‘You smiled at me,’ Gwyn said, his voice rough and rusty.

‘I didn’t smile at _you_ , I smiled at what he had made of you. And do you remember what I said?’

‘That...you must have him over again to play with me soon, because it was obvious I’d been...an-’

‘-Entertaining host. Oh you _do_ remember. I’m so pleased. Darling, truly. I am. And now here we are, and you’re a pathetic, dismal King of a joyless, soulless Court, and my beautiful Efnisien is dead. And if you will ruin my life, then, creature, I shall destroy yours. For I have always enjoyed seeing you ruined and wasted and made into the actual monstrosity that you are. Do you remember what I said to you after you killed that dear boy of yours? Oh...what was his name?’

Gwyn’s eyes snapped up, he turned cold. He didn’t remember. He couldn’t remember much after...what had happened. It was all a blur.

‘No, no, that will never _do,’_ Crielle said, grinning a shark’s grin at his confusion. ‘I believe I-’

‘-I will remove you from this Court,’ Gwyn said, voice trembling. ‘I will remove you from this Court and I will bear the consequences. I will see your status revoked to underfae and you will, you will _have_ to wait until I am demoted and a new King or Queen raised up and ingratiate yourself to _them,_ and even if it only lasts a few weeks, mother, everyone will know that you were demoted by that son you supposedly supported. I swear. I swear it.’

Crielle’s eyes widened at his words, and Gwyn was grinding his teeth together, thought he might be shaking.

‘Are you still so ruined by it all?’ Crielle whispered after a moment, delighted. ‘Ah, then. Give it a few days, creature. You’ll see what I have waiting for you.’

Gwyn opened his mouth to say that he had no time for empty threats but suddenly felt the truth of it; that he only had a few days. That her centre was gone. This was nothing like their conversations in the past. He knew he was in trouble.

So he’d released Augus.

He’d stood in that corridor by the portal, wondering if Augus was lingering nearby – _hoping –_ for a ridiculous amount of time, before forcing himself to his senses, making himself walk away.

Two days later he received a piece of paper in Ash’s indelicate, scribbly hand simply saying:

_We have him. He’s safe. You have no claim to him now. He wants nothing to do with you._

Gwyn thought Ash _might_ be lying to him, but then thought it might as well be true, and all that mattered was that Augus was safe, and he’d prepared for this, hadn’t he? He’d prepared for this to be true.

But it hurt.

Still, he attempted to close his mind to that, though it was as easy as trying to shove a door closed on an overfull wardrobe. He gathered the silver together for the trows. Now he knelt before them, not knowing exactly to convey how much they’d done for him, how much they meant to him.

‘Please start making arrangements for yourselves to not be living here anymore, or not be on call here anymore,’ Gwyn said, his voice hushed, feeling like the walls were listening in on him. The trows watched him, wide-eyed. Some were still signing frantically to each other. ‘You know how it is. The Seelie fae have always preferred more typically comely housekeep, and you know your appearance has never bothered me, but it may bother any successor that comes in my stead. You may not be able to keep any employment here. The silver should be enough to...I’m not sure what you do with it, but I think it should be enough to see you well paid for at least a few decades. If I had it my way, it would be a lifelong severance, but I didn’t start placing an importance on acquiring silver until I met you.’

He laughed.

The trow with the hand on his arm withdrew it and signed quickly:

_Where are you going? We would come with you._

‘I don’t know,’ Gwyn said, shaking his head. ‘I suspect nowhere good for me, and therefore nowhere safe for you. I would keep you all in my employ if I could! Believe me. Three thousand years and I’ve never known any fae more helpful, and you are poorly served by the Seelie alignment. Believe me.’

_We are what we are, no better or worse. Something is coming?_

‘Something is coming.’

They looked at each other for a long time, and Gwyn nodded after a while, shifted in order to teleport, only to be stopped by the trow placing a hand back on his arm.

_Be safe._

‘I will,’ Gwyn said, trying to keep his voice as light as possible. But the trow watching him, and several of the others knew it was a lie. He teleported away, not wanting to explain any further, feeling as though he owed them a great deal more than what he’d given them.

*

The trows started disappearing from the Kingdom one by one. Gwyn noticed that the food they were leaving out in the kitchens were designed not to spoil. They were already preparing him for them not being there any longer. So he chewed on strips of dried jerky and hardtack and hardly minded because it reminded him of rations on camps where there were no fae with culinary magic to turn inedibles into food, and food into delicious meals. He’d eaten plenty of rations over his lifetime.

It was one late afternoon that he was heading towards the library to shift his most valued scrolls out into other regions, that he felt it come over him. A strange draining of power. He staggered slightly, threw a hand out towards the wall. Caught himself.

The draining continued and he gasped. But just like that it halted and he caught his breath, holding his other hand to his chest.

_By the gods, what was that?_

Then he realised he couldn’t feel it anymore. The authority of being King. The knowledge that with words alone he could take fae prisoner, release them. Could raise or demote the status of any fae he wished. He slapped his hands against the wall and tried to change the permissions, tried to shift the palatial-rooms, and... _nothing._

But he wasn’t...not King, either.

‘King’s hold,’ Gwyn whispered, eyes going wide.

King’s hold, something he’d only read about in books. When an Inner Court could freeze a King or Queen’s power when they’d decided they’d had enough. It could only be done by an Inner Court, and it wasn’t a demotion, per se, so much as a way of letting royalty know that something was very wrong and needed drastic measures to fix. It was something that Augus’ Inner Court should have done to Augus, except his Inner Court fractured and fell apart until only Ash was left; and Ash wouldn’t have known about King’s Hold and didn’t have the skill to do it anyway.

Gwyn was experiencing something he’d only read about. He was sure that was what it was. With Ondine away from the Court it must have been initiated by Albion.

Albion who had been in Crielle’s pocket for some time now.

Gwyn felt his spine turn to ice, he leaned back against the wall for several seconds, then started running towards the Seelie Court proper. They’d done this without _telling_ him? Did they know about Augus? Ash was instructed to keep it a secret for his own good, theirs was a fragile Court with hardly anyone in it, they needed to be careful. They risked the possibility of civil war, having Augus back in their clutches and not imprisoned.

Did Albion know? It was what Gwyn was waiting for. Soon fae would know. No one would tolerate it.

Footsteps heading towards him, _pelting_ towards him. It was so alien to have anyone in the inner circles of his palatial rooms. Anyone aside from Augus. He froze. He waited.

But now his Inner Court could enter, his permissions no longer held any significance. They had temporary authority over the Seelie Kingdom.

Albion turned a corner, looked livid, eyes wide and cheeks blotched with red, pupils wide with fear. Gwyn stared in shock as Albion pushed him up hard against the wall, a forearm heavy about his neck, choking him.

‘Did you...?’

_-Release the waterhorse?_

‘Did you...I can’t believe I’m saying this,’ Albion’s eyes were a storm, he smelled like a cyclone. ‘Did you _lie_ to us, to all of us, about being _Unseelie?’_

He blanked.

A rushing sound in his head. Cold wet thumping in his chest, heart turned into a suffocating fish flapping about on land.

Later he would remember that his first thought was: _Augus, why would you?_

His second thought was: _Crielle._

Albion shook him hard, slammed his head against the wall with so much force that Gwyn was snapped into action, snarled, pushed him away or _tried_ to, it was easy to forget that Albion was a demigod of the Atlantic, able to put the force of an ocean behind anything he did. He commanded an underwater nation with more than just words and philosophy. Gwyn could smell ozone, almost hear waves thrashing in the distance.

He laughed softly. Albion stared at him as though he were mad.

‘And if I told you she was lying?’ Gwyn said.

‘She said she can prove it,’ Albion said, voice shaking. ‘She said there is proof. And she has told _everyone._ You have a busy Court waiting for you, I am to take you to it.’

‘Then take me to it,’ Gwyn said.

The terror was so huge it hadn’t crashed down upon him yet. He was still staring at the tsunami of it bearing down upon him, knowing that even if he turned and ran, he could never outrun it. He knew this was the end. He felt oddly peaceful. But that was only because it hadn’t yet hit, and he knew that too.

‘Do not make a mockery of my honour and reputation. Have you been _lying_ to me?’ Albion hissed. Sea foam flew from the corners of his mouth.

More heavy footsteps. Albion and Gwyn turned at the same time. Two of Crielle’s soldiers – previously Lludd’s soldiers and members of his independent military –rushed into the corridor, looking horrified.

‘The waterhorse is gone!’

_Ah, well._

Albion looked at him with growing dread on his face.

‘Did you do this on _purpose?’_

‘No,’ Gwyn said. ‘I swear to you, I had no intention of releasing him when I first-’

‘You _released_ him?!’

Gwyn laughed. He thought that would be the assumption. He was still laughing when Albion began dragging him down the corridors towards the Seelie Court proper – no teleportation here, but the humiliation of actually being dragged by the collar of his shirt. He realised that Albion had thought he’d killed him. Of course. Because he’d established the rumour that he’d been torturing him regularly.

He vaguely picked up what the soldiers were saying to Albion, what Albion was saying to them. He interjected.

‘Don’t bother. He’s in the custody of the Unseelie Court. I didn’t release him just so he could be taken prisoner again.’

Albion took several steps that were larger than the curt, small steps he normally took. But it was enough that he knew Albion was upset. Normally Gwyn would offer some consolation, but he had nothing.

Crielle had proof, he’d said. _Proof._

Her centre was _gone._ All this time, the only reason she’d kept the secret, the only reason he’d been kept _alive,_ was because of her centre of appearance and how much she attached it to family reputation. They’d had no reason to believe it would ever change. It had been constant. She was supposed to be one of those fae whose centre stayed constant until the end. He hadn’t considered how Efnisien’s death might impact her because he’d had other things on his mind at the time, covering up the death, assuming she would think it an accident.

_What a blow it must have been, mother, for the most hated thing in your life to have supposedly killed the one you loved most._

He couldn’t seem to stop laughing, though it turned to gasps. Albion’s steps lengthened again, sped them towards the Court. Gwyn’s heart was fluttering, moth wings frantic, and he almost pulled back, felt his light telling him to run, run, _run._ It was closer now, the tsunami of it. There was panic in the pulsing of his body and in the way his hands and feet had gone cold, he could hardly feel his face. Albion’s hand was fisted into his shirt but Gwyn was keeping up with him, at least had his feet under him and was _walking_ towards his fate.

No armour. No sword. Only soft leather boots and the soft pants he always wore and a linen shirt. He looked like a common fae peasant. He had never dressed the part of King unless absolutely required. He’d only worn the crown once, at his Coronation.

He knew better than anyone – except, perhaps, Crielle – how much he’d never belonged. Never wanted the role. Eschewed it in every small way he could.

‘Send a missive to the Unseelie Court once this is done,’ Albion said crisply to the soldiers following alongside. ‘Check to see if the Each Uisge is truly there.’

‘Yes, Lord,’ one responded.

The throne room was getting closer. Closer. Gwyn knew there was a clamour of people. They were thirty steps away and he could sense the largest audience that had maybe gathered to the Court since the actual defeat of Augus and the subsequent celebration and Gwyn twisted in Albion’s grip and placed both his hands on his wrist, squeezing at ropey tendons and muscles. It didn’t stop Albion pulling him forward, it didn’t even stop Gwyn from walking alongside him, but a tension between them now, a straining. Albion turned stormy eyes towards him.

‘If you are not about to tell me that all of this is a joke and a bad one, then you will unhand my wrist.’

Gwyn had words piling upon the tip of his tongue. He wanted to apologise. He wanted to say that he’d always respected Albion. That he had lied, but not in the way that Albion possibly thought he’d lied.

His hands slid off Albion’s wrists. The sea King’s jaw tightened, his nostrils flared.

Gwyn had a moment to think of Augus. His face, the curve of his lips on a half-smile, green eyes, the thick eyelashes he loved that were so dark and shone in certain lights, the oil slick of his come that tasted like lake and life in his mouth, that at least he’d released him, gotten him _out,_ because this – he knew, he could tell – would be far worse than any Display that he’d ever put Augus through. Because this...

_You’ve paid out the trows. You’ve squared away most of your debts. You’ve released Augus. You’re ready. You are ready for this. You_ wanted _this._

But he didn’t. Not like this. He wanted death on his own terms. Not...whatever this would become.

Fear was turning his blood to acid. Bile crawled up the back of his throat.

The fist in his shirt felt like his father’s. It occurred to him that Albion was very much like his father. Not so much a brute – but ruthless, cold, stern. Gwyn closed his eyes. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath.

But he had to face this. He couldn’t face it like a King, because he’d never truly been a King no matter what they’d voted and done to his status. And he couldn’t face it like a War General because this wasn’t a war. But he could face it like a soldier, one who had betrayed his people and his Kingdom, knowing what fate waited for him on the other side of those doors. He only wished Crielle wouldn’t be there. Only that it would be so much harder to become unfeeling, truly cold, in her presence. He didn’t want to shame himself. She saw through him, always.

Still, several deep breaths, he straightened his posture. His face blanked into a familiar, cold mask. He faced the double doors leading into the back of the throne room and wondered what it meant that the Seelie way would be to face this nobly, but his instincts were shouting at him about self-preservation and teleportation and _running away._

Too late to make a decision, the doors were thrown open.

The Court – over one thousand Court and Outer Court fae, _easily_ – parted to let them through. Crielle was waiting up on the dais by the throne by many more of her own military entourage – borrowed from Lludd – wearing her colours, blue and cream, only a shade off the family colours of blue and gold. He didn’t quail as she looked at him. He saw the damp handkerchief in her hand and the tears that tracked her face and realised with mounting horror that she must have spun one of her very convincing stories.

His eyes scattered out over the giant crowd underneath the huge vaulted ceilings. The hushed voices. The stares. This was it then. He was in her plan now. This had been it all along.

He could never have foreseen this, he realised. He’d never imagined a day where she might betray reputation and family and her centre of appearance. Decades of torture and the insistence that he maintain his secret hadn’t prepared him for this. Not the gem soldered to his ribs when he was a child nor the arrow that his father demanded he shoot into Mafydd’s heart. All of it had been to maintain the secret.

He took the steps up to the throne without stumbling, and he was grateful. His vision was clearer than ever. His hearing hypersensitive. He was becoming so attuned to his environment that it grated against his skin. Every whisper was a touch, all the eyes that fell upon him felt like an army he had to square off against.

He felt naked without his sword. His armour.

There were very few people that could amass a crowd so quickly. What had Crielle promised them? An unveiling of an event or a ball? The re-opening of the temporary seasonal Courts? But then no, many of them weren’t in formal wear, which meant they had made haste and not expected to be here to socialise. So then _how?_

At the far left he saw Ondine, a puddle of water on the ground beneath her, still wearing the sheer gown that she wore underwater instead of the clothing she usually changed into above ground. Why was she down there, not up on the dais? She was Inner Court. She...

But then she was like Gwyn, she’d never been particularly suited to high status, to responsibility. He’d chosen her for her reputation as diviner, knowing that every time she divined for him, every time he withstood the fear and dread of it and she never questioned his false alignment, she was another part of the lie that his family had told him he must maintain. Ondine had been part of a strategy, and he hated himself for it. She deserved better. She would hate knowing all that divination had not revealed the truth of him.  

They made eye contact, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Not even as Crielle began to speak in her heartbroken voice. And, oh, even Gwyn could feel the dra’ocht in it, heavy and rolling and full of magic. Even he felt pity for her.

‘So I have charged my darling, frightening son with being Unseelie, and I know many of you here are confused, and do not...do not believe me.’

Her breath hitched, she shook her head as though she couldn’t bear to go on. Gwyn looked away from Ondine over to his mother. He towered above her, conspicuous and wanting this part to be _over._ Yet a part of him wanted to interject somehow, save himself. That he wanted to do that at all was a wash of dry amusement through him. He _wanted_ to end everything, and here he was, hoping to at least explain himself.

‘It is only that we tried to do the right thing by him, and we have done some terrible things to ensure it. Terrible things. But you don’t understand. His power frightened us! Some of you may remember we lived somewhere else, before the new An-Fnwy estate. What none of you know is that when he was young-’

_No._

‘-He destroyed it with his light. We loved him, but we were frightened!’

‘Crielle,’ Albion interjected, his voice as cold as a deep sea trench, ‘you said you had proof. We need not the story, we need the _proof._ None of the fae who can sense alignments senses that he is anything other than Seelie. You had best back up this story, and quickly. _’_

‘Lludd turned to the Old Lore,’ Crielle turned to him, her eyes pleading with Albion to understand. It was all a glamour and Gwyn kept his face impassive as he watched her play out this role, knowing that he was only supposed to stand there and wait. He felt sickened, his throat worked on a swallow. These things were supposed to be _private._ She was breaking all the rules. His father would have been mortified.

Some of the fae gasped at the mention of Old Lore.

‘Gwyn has a crystal aithwick soldered to his rib, on the right hand side.’ She drew a small, sharp knife from her belt. Gwyn saw that it was _ingrit_ and hid a cringe. Years of battle, of his ribs being smashed in over and over, hadn’t destroyed that crystal. But _ingrit_ would remove it. His heart was beating too fast, was a thick mass in his throat, and he swallowed, the sound audible since his mouth and throat were so dry. Albion heard it, turned to him, and Gwyn hoped his expression was one of ambivalence.

‘An aithwick...’ Albion said dubiously. ‘Even I know-’

‘Lludd would have moved the upper and underworlds to give Gwyn all the opportunities possible to live a normal life, an adjusted life,’ Crielle said. She didn’t even flash her eyes to Gwyn in triumph at her lies, though Gwyn knew she must have been aching to.

‘There is a scar,’ Crielle said, her voice hushed. ‘A scar above the crystal. Cut there. I will show you.’

The dread coalesced into something far stronger and Gwyn found himself leaning away from the blade as Albion turned back to him, holding it up. His eyes were stern, his thin brows sharp with intent, but there was something in his face that said he wanted Gwyn to stop this madness. But Gwyn would only run, and he had nowhere to go to...and – he knew – no _one_ to go to _._

_Not here,_ Gwyn mouthed to him, humiliated, flushed red. That Crielle did see, and while Albion had his gaze on Gwyn, some of her cruelty flashed. In that moment, with her golden, curly hair and deep blue eyes, she looked like Efnisien when he’d finally managed to draw a choked sound from him during their bouts of torture. Gwyn thought it was almost a waste that she was Seelie, for it seemed a shame she could only enjoy cruelty, and not transmute it into food.

‘Put him on his knees and remove his shirt,’ Albion commanded to the soldiers. Gwyn was shoved to the ground. He didn’t resist. He knew he should. He knew he should be indignant and coming up with a story, a bluff, perhaps saying that Crielle had gone mad with Efnisien’s and Lludd’s deaths.

But Augus had been right every time he had said it.

Gwyn felt so tired.

He wanted to give up.

His shirt had to be cut away from him, because he wouldn’t cooperate with that, they nicked his chest in the process. He wondered what Augus was doing. It was late afternoon, perhaps he’d be digesting his food. He needed to hunt more than Gwyn had ever let him, and that would have taken some time. Perhaps he was learning how to deal with Gulvi, who...hadn’t once tried to contact Gwyn even though she must have known Gwyn had a hand in Augus’ escape. He realised he’d likely lost a friend in Gulvi, and his eyes flickered up to find Ondine’s again.

She stood on the sidelines, watched quietly. Her face was grave, not condemning.

Not yet.

‘There,’ Crielle said, and Gwyn felt the point of a nail on his skin. He even unwittingly moved his arm so it was easier to see. It was easiest to access from the back, but in truth, the scar was more on his side.

_Don’t do this._

But there was no point saying it aloud, was there?

The words that had fallen from his mouth when he’d pleaded, begged with Lludd to let him go, to kill him, to do _anything_ except what he was asking Gwyn to do all those years ago... _Papa, please, don’t do this!_ None of it had worked. This was not a world of mercy, it had no quarter for him.

He’d killed an innocent boy. An innocent, good-hearted boy.

In a way, Gwyn had been waiting for this. He grit his teeth, lowered his eyes to the ground. Waited.

_This is possibly where Augus may think you’re misusing that new centre of yours._

Gwyn almost laughed, but fingers closed over his upper arms. He was held hard.

A knife split his skin directly over the scar. He swallowed at the pain, but it was all very familiar. Efnisien and his knives. Torturers and their knives. He would not allow himself to go blank, he needed his wits about him, he could withstand this.

Except that it was _ingrit,_ and when they peeled his skin apart and gasped at the aithwick crystal itself, he realised that there was only one way to remove it from his ribs. When he felt the touch of the bone-damaging blade on the bone itself, he flinched hard and his eyes flew open. He had been through this before, or something so like this it was too familiar, terrifying. Writhing on a table and agony inside of him and his father telling him he would be killed if he let his light go, and panic wound its way through him, he began shaking, he struggled once, briefly. Crielle’s soft hand on the side of his face turned everything to a white, grinding halt.

That she would do that _now._ All insincerity. Even now maintaining the facade of being a loving mother. He looked up at her, feeling – of all the things he should not feel – betrayed.

‘Mama,’ he said, so softly the words were only a breath. She snatched her hand away, a look of revulsion crawling over her face, and he opened his mouth again to finish his sentence. _I kept all your secrets. I did it for the both of you._

Instead his lips and teeth slammed together and his throat opened on sounds that never spilled forth. His whole body throbbed. The knife sliced through his rib, taking the tip of it and the aithwick with it. It was removed. Tossed to the floor.

Mayhem.

Shouting and cries of, ‘ _Unseelie!’_ and _‘He is! He is! She’s not lying!’_ and _‘Monster!’_ and insult upon insult and the Seelie fae well...they had never taken well to being betrayed or lied to. Especially by an Unseelie fae.

He was hauled upright, blood streaming, rib a bright, throbbing wound and muscles and tendons and the bone itself damaged. It would never be the same. The bone might grow back, perhaps, he didn’t know – he was King status and it might resist the power of _ingrit._ But it wasn’t growing back now. He looked to Ondine. She had an olive-skinned hand over her mouth, but she was already lowering it. She didn’t look outraged like the others. She didn’t even look hurt. He couldn’t read the expression on her face. It was something of a haven, given that he could feel the hostile energy radiating from all the others.

Many cried for his slaughter.

Ondine walked forwards slowly and stepped up onto the dais. Gwyn realised that Albion was beckoning her. The entirety of his Inner Court were up with him now. Gwyn wished they could know how much he cared for them, in his own, broken way.

Albion called for silence and it came with the hungry, bated breath of a crowd that was enthusiastic for vengeance.

‘Gwyn ap Nudd has been revealed as Unseelie and a traitor,’ Albion called, his voice boomed with the authority of someone who knew how to send language across an ocean to his merfolk and other sea fae. ‘By the authority of the Seelie Kingdom, which is hallowed and stands even in the face of this atrocity, I do put this to a vote. If you no longer want him as your King, raise your hand or paw in agreement.’

Gwyn watched – numb, sore – as arms shot up across the crowd.

_Here it is now. It’s coming. Perhaps they will make it fast._

He thought, briefly, of all he had done for the Seelie Court, but the fact was he had always been a stranger and he had never belonged with them. None of these people he could count as close friend or even confidante. He’d had Gulvi, whom understood a part of him he’d never understood. She was all chaos and caustic and yet they’d moments of understanding one another. There had been Augus...

It had been good, for what it was, for what he’d stolen from him. He hadn’t known, in the moment he walked down those steps towards Augus’ cell, he hadn’t known he was capable of feeling like that about someone. All his life he’d simply assumed a deep backbone of brokenness, perhaps since Mafydd, perhaps before. It surprised him, what he’d discovered about himself with Augus. Sometimes he even thought he glimpsed aspects or facets of himself that weren’t just crude and clumsy and crass.

Gwyn couldn’t decide whether he wanted Augus to mourn him or not. He wanted to be noble. He wanted Augus to simply move on. But a soft, bruised part of his mind wanted someone to care. To grieve.

Just one person.

‘I must also inform you all,’ Albion was saying, ‘that Gwyn ap Nudd has released the waterhorse, Augus Each Uisge, back into the custody of the Unseelie Court.’

Chaos now, utter outrage, and soldiers were having to hold back several fae who tried to charge up the dais themselves. Magic shot across the room and something lacerated his arm, ricocheted and hit one of the soldiers holding him too. At that, the magic stopped, but the outrage continued. After all, here were many fae that he’d heard beg for Augus’ death. His heart hurt for them. He couldn’t meet their eyes anymore, he was sickening himself. All those times Crielle had called him creature, monster, beast, thing...

‘This will be investigated. The extent of their collusion, and how many years back it goes, will be explored.’

At that, Gwyn smirked. Oh, so that was what Albion thought? That Gwyn had planned this all along? Well, at least they were giving him _some_ credit. Even if it was unwarranted.

A hand at his throat, cruel and cold and smelling of salt. He looked calmly into Albion’s eyes. Here it was then. At least he wouldn’t be King anymore. That was something.

‘Gwyn ap Nudd,’ Albion said, ‘I, Albion, _Seelie_ King of the Atlantic, hereby use the power of your Court and Inner Court to revoke your status of King. I demote you to underfae.’

He’d expected it, but he could never be prepared for it. He’d always been Court or higher. He had never been demoted. He’d only ever moved up the statuses, had nothing to compare this to.

It _hurt._

He didn’t scream because his voice was taken away from him and his lungs felt as though they were being crushed. Fae in the background were shrieking for his death, his execution, shouting about Augus and collusion and conspiracies and outrage and he could hear Crielle sobbing in her false heartbreak but there was nothing he could focus on for long. It was excruciating.

A blaze of pain throughout his whole body, scouring his light. It swirled out of him, rendered truly neutral now by the oldest of fae laws, those of status and demotion and promotion. He couldn’t watch it because his eyes were squeezed shut, tears leaking from them, he was vaguely aware that every exhale was a keen of agony.

He collapsed. Soldiers came and held him up with cruel fingers that dug in deliberately, but each bruise was hardly noticeable.

Life-force was draining out of him. He could feel it. Thousands of years of healing capacity, of strength, and he was sinking in on himself, shaking as violently as a seizure, eyes rolling back into his head and he wished only that it wasn’t _public._

Otherwise he surrendered to it, he knew he deserved this.

He couldn’t help but mentally reach for the light that swirled away from him, spiralling thick and white and even beautiful from his body, though he hated it. It was still _his_. He clutched at it with invisible fingers, refused to let it go. Some of it came back. Some of it stayed. Perhaps it was just the light that would have stayed anyway if he was underfae. Augus said he was classless, it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t live long enough to find out.

His heart was beating so hard his eyes hurt, but then abruptly it slowed, and he was struggling to breathe for very different reasons. Not just pain now. It _was_ killing him.

Most fae of very high statuses didn’t survive a drop down to underfae.

He didn’t expect to. Not having known underfae status before. Not like Augus.

_Maybe right now he’s sleeping. He needed rest._

Gwyn whimpered once, wished that things could have been different. But they weren’t, and he was a monster, and everything that was supposed to happen was happening.

He screamed once at the end. A rush of unexpected agony gutting the inside of him and racing along his spine, turning everything to fire. He would have released his light then, but for some reason it wouldn’t obey, and instead it shredded him out and hurt him, blistered his skin.

Everything went black.

*

A sense of time creeping on.

Darkness. Damp. The smell of earth. Footsteps. A hoarse wheeze on every inhale and exhale. He wanted to tell whomever had the breathing problem to be quiet.

Darkness again.

*

He woke up sluggish, weak. His body ached as it never had before. He felt fragile. He still had his musculature, because he’d built that himself through training, but he was...very fragile. Rolling over made him cry out thinly. His rib hadn’t healed. He felt bruised everywhere. It was dark on his eyelids, there was a faint source of light.

He opened his eyes slowly; were-light flickering in a ball somewhere nearby.

He looked around.

Walls of dirt and tree-roots. A long thick root jutting out of the wall that was a bench to sit on. And on the floor a length of rope, old and familiar.

He pushed himself upright and gasped through it, muscles shaking, but the pain of his rib was awful. He blacked out again.

*

He awoke soon after that, though he didn’t know it was soon. He pushed himself only to his hands and knees this time, crawled to the tree-root bench, dragged himself onto it. He sat with his back to the wall, feeling the abrasive throb of Seelie around him. It had always hurt, he’d never adjusted to it, for all he’d convinced himself he had. Now that he was underfae he couldn’t push its toxicity away as easily. It felt like a headache that wouldn’t release him.

He looked through the opening of his cell down a long, underground corridor. His eyes widened. He looked at the rope down by his feet, realised he’d left that rope behind himself many months ago. Realised which cell they’d put him in. The cell where he’d committed so many atrocities against someone he loved. He huffed out a sound of bitter amusement.

He started to laugh.

He didn’t stop until unconsciousness found him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, 'Recovery:'
> 
> ‘I care for him,’ Augus said, taking a slow breath, looking up. ‘Not because he was my captor, but because he is complex and worthy of care.’


	37. Recovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty! Posting this up a day early (and in Singapore!) and then I'm back home tomorrow to write like the wind! No new tags for this chapter, though warnings always apply and you might want to tread carefully here, there's some sensitive subjects.
> 
> AS ALWAYS.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who comments, kudoses, subscribes, bookmarks, sends asks over at Tumblr or just reads in general. You folks all rock. :D *offers hugs to all of you*

His life was murk and darkness, resting down in the cold depths of the lake. It wasn’t his, but he’d used it while he lived in the Unseelie Court. It was Ash’s now – technically _King_ Ash’s – but Ash didn’t need it and he’d loaned it to Augus.

So he lay on folded legs and turned his long neck and rested his horse head by his side and digested, mind floating through dark greens and browns, colours occasionally marked with flashes of bright green or white, even the reds and pinks and yellows of gore. The digestion process took him out of himself, he no longer thought like Augus Each Uisge, but _the_ Each Uisge. He was sensation and oneness with the lake, waterweed wrapping around his thoughts and tangling them, drowning them. He didn’t think about the healing stab wound in his gut, or even the three humans he’d attacked all at once, gorging himself as his harmed body demanded fuel to recover. He didn’t think about Ash or Gulvi or the Unseelie Court.

But every now and then his mind showed him a creature of light, a creature of darkness. The first appeared as crepuscular rays pushing through cumulus. The second looked like the underside of an anvil of heavy cloud; shaded and dark. The Each Uisge didn’t attach names to these sensations, but one made him feel warm, like spring. The other was coldness, a dark that frightened even he. It was alien and strange. He blinked slow, lambent eyes at the water currents around him, at the tiny silver and gold fish that came and nibbled on his black, lustrous coat. He was full and sated. He was a swirl of almost-contentment, his own mane and tail floating up and around him lazily, shifting in a slight, deep water current.

Days passed, he needed them. In his waterhorse form, he indulged. There was an odd, lovely peace in the predatory life of the Each Uisge, at his most animal. Tiny jewelled crabs came and tucked themselves under his large body, an eel – violet scales flashing, lucent eyes a pale peach glow – came and coiled peacefully in a part of his mane, occasionally darting out to snatch fish. Carnivorous fresh water snails came and devoured the tiny tidbits of bone and meat that remained. Usually he was thorough, nothing was left behind. But consuming three humans at once, he’d lost control and gorged with even more violence than usual, the whole lake shaking with the constant force of rolling growls.

He’d been _starving._ It had been years since he’d eaten properly. In his waterhorse form he experienced a pulsing resentment and hostility towards the human-form that corralled his spirit by neglecting his appetite.

Now he was a nascent creature once more, completing a cycle he’d entered into thousands of times throughout his life. 

A week passed when that human-form mind pressed forth again. It started as flashes of thought. Reminders. _Ash. Go above. Walk on two legs._ But he hadn’t fully digested his food yet, and he curled in on himself, trying to ignore the internal pulses that were like a fish testing him to see if he was edible. He bared his teeth lazily, he even growled at it, but his mind continued.

_Go. Go above. Skin now. Two legs. Get up. Feet not hooves._

His growl got louder, but the short, stabbing thoughts continued.

The pale, crepuscular rays coalesced around a form that he found both threatening and appealing. The shadows in the anvils of clouds in his mind didn’t retreat, but their influence faded. The flashes of thought were protecting him from them. He saw another waterhorse with short, curly hair and had a moment to think: _Ridiculous._

He came back to himself all at once, twenty four hours after he’d started pressing himself to leave the lake. He transformed into his human-form and swam upwards, eschewing his supernatural ability with buoyancy in order to make the swim himself, breathing water into his lungs and exhaling it, more pleasant than air, carrying the tastes of the lake, letting him know what lived in it, including the taste of his brother; something he knew so well from sharing a lake with him while they grew up. It awoke instincts of hostility alongside other feelings he didn’t know how to process yet, because they were odd. His mind supplied the word _brother,_ but it meant nothing to him. He was in human-form, but his mind was lingering in the dark, murky depths.

He used his buoyancy towards the end to push up through the lake surface, until he could simply walk on the water and to the bank itself without having to pull himself up. He stood naked, dripping water, staring at the Unseelie Court blankly for several minutes. He reached up with long fingers and squeezed water from his hair. He wished for dryness, but he could never have it. So he wished instead for clothing and boots that sounded like hooves clicking, and he didn’t know where he could get them. He’d been in an empty infirmary for over a day, and then he’d needed to hunt immediately.

Ash hadn’t shown him to a room, he didn’t know where any clothing was.

He opened his nostrils and walked calmly forwards, looking for his brother. The twisted, ugly Unseelie Court loomed over him. It was a mess, reflecting the state of his mind when he’d altered it. He cringed away from shadows. There had been a time, not more than a year and a half ago, when this place had _living_ shadows inside of it, and the dark spaces were dangerous. The Unseelie Court was filled with them.

It was incentive to pull his reserved, controlling mind back to himself, and he began to _think_ again, to compartmentalise, to push aside his fears and his memories and pull back others, until his mind started to resemble an ordered network of streets. He tracked the scent of his brother, but it was another name on his mind.

_Gwyn._

For the last six months, when he came out of the lake, that was often where his thoughts went. To the golden one. The one that made all that light. Not Spring or Summer or sunlight or electricity. Whatever it was, he was drawn to it. For what lake was not benefitted by shafts of light streaming through the surface, highlighting the curving stems of lily pads underwater, highlighting water-bubbles and the flanks of fish.

He found himself walking along the corridor where he’d used to sleep himself, ended up knocking on the double doors leading into the room he’d once slept in. Ash opened it in an instant, wearing a threadbare red shirt with the print of some human pastry on it. It was damp at the shoulders. He looked Augus over quickly, the dripping nakedness of him. His eyes then fixed on something on his belly.

Augus raised a hand to where Ash was looking, absently. The seam of a wound. It was still tender, but it was nearly healed.

‘It is fine,’ Augus heard himself say. ‘I would like some clothing, if you have it. Though not that monstrosity you’re wearing, if you don’t mind.’

‘Here I was about to say I’d give you the shirt off my own back, brother, but then I remembered you’d never fucking take it,’ Ash said warmly.

Ash’s eyes then moved to his chest, and Augus’ hand came up and touched the blackened skin there. It felt like skin, not quite like a scar. But he could feel the boundaries and markings of the Soulbond with his own fingers without looking. Ash turned his wrist, held up the mark on his own forearm. Augus stared at it. Frowned.

‘I don’t like it,’ he said. ‘They’re ugly.’

‘Only because you don’t like what they mean,’ Ash said, looking at his own. ‘I happen to like mine. The blue-green lights in the scar are kind of pretty.’

Augus watched him quietly and Ash returned the look, questions on his face and a relieved smile hanging around his lips. Augus didn’t know what to say. There was a lot to parse. He could leave, if he wanted. He wasn’t trapped in this Court. It didn’t feel like poison. That alone was a struggle to understand. Even once the Nightmare King had tossed him away, it had taken a long time to realise what that actually _meant._ The ability to leave, to do what he wanted.

Except he couldn’t do what he wanted anymore. Not really.

‘I need a rapier,’ Augus said. ‘I need to start training again. I’m not sure if there is anyone who would train with me, but there are things I can do on my own.’

He was reminded abruptly of all the drills Gwyn did alone. But then, it was hard to imagine many people could match his strength, especially with the somewhat destructive way he trained.

Towards the end of his captivity, he’d started training again, secretly. Remembering how to step through what he was doing, learning the rapier. Now he missed the weapon the trows had found for him. It had felt friendly. He didn’t know if he’d ever find another rapier like it. It must have been a spoil of war, an Unseelie weapon like that hiding in the Seelie Court.

_Gwyn._

Augus swallowed.

‘I need a weapon, and I need clothing. And boots.’

‘A lot of your clothing is still here,’ Ash said, raising his eyebrows. ‘You’re still a bit underwater right now, aren’t you? Yeah, you’ve always been a bit like that. Okay, well, I assume you’ll be back to yourself in a bit. But come on. You remember where all your clothing was, right? I only added some of mine in, I didn’t...uh, didn’t take any of yours out.’

‘I missed you too,’ Augus said quietly as he stepped past Ash and into a room which was...his and not his. It had the bed he’d chosen for himself, the furniture, but this wasn’t his room, not really. This was where he’d worried, planned, fretted, feared, raged, seethed. What contentment had he ever found in this room, knowing the Nightmare King walked the same halls and corridors, knowing the shadows could – and had – come from anywhere, under beds, from behind mirrors, the threatening spaces behind open doors?

And before that, he’d been, well...he never had known exactly what he’d been doing. Ruining the Nightmare King while trying to impress him?

_‘You killed fae because of that monster. He turned you into someone who abandoned everything you were, just to present him with a gift of a Kingdom. Just so you could say, ‘Look, I can do it too.’’_

Augus bared his teeth to remember it. Gwyn had spoken to him boldly that day.

‘Any news from the Seelie Court?’ Augus said lightly as he stepped into the giant, connecting rooms that were the ‘wardrobes’ of the Unseelie King. Ash was right. There was a pile of Ash’s clothing on the left, almost none of it hanging up or presented neatly. Everything else was as Augus had left it. He dressed quickly, pulling on familiar pants, a charcoal grey shirt, calf-high boots with stern heels and sharp buckles.

‘Yeah, no. Not really? I mean they don’t know you’re here, from what I can tell. Gulvi hasn’t told anyone, she’s worried about _Gwyn,_ of all fucking people. But she’s mad as fuck at him as well. She’s sort of realised I wouldn’t have been able to find that Mage on my own. I dunno, she’s not talking to me heaps right now. More than before but...not about personal stuff right now. And as for Gwyn- Can you explain that whole clusterfuck to me, please? I mean be honest, when did you know you had him wrapped around your little finger? Because, it’s either that or, I don’t know. I can’t figure it out.’

Augus paused as he adjusted his collar, and then abruptly smoothed it with both of his hands. His nails were long again, he’d need to file them shorter. He walked past racks and cabinets and cupboards, opened a drawer almost out of habit. And still there, his nail files. He picked one out and began filing his hard nails back, shaking his head at how much hadn’t changed.

Because _everything_ had changed.

‘Augus, please, talk to me. What the fuck happened while you were there?’

Augus looked at what he was doing, trying to sort his thoughts out. He didn’t know how to explain it, and he knew Ash didn’t quite trust him anymore. At least, not in this.

‘I care for him,’ Augus said, taking a slow breath, looking up. ‘Not because he was my captor, but because he is complex and worthy of care.’

A profound scepticism moved into Ash’s lips as he pressed them together, into furrowed brows.

‘Things were difficult in the beginning. Or...actually, no, I spent six months in the cell, alone. And I think that helped, actually.’

He laughed.

‘Then things were difficult. Then they became mutual.’

‘Mutual,’ Ash said flatly.

Augus looked up at him then, measured the look of anger in Ash’s hazel eyes.

‘We began to fuck, _mutually,’_ Augus said, keeping his voice soft and precise.

‘That rapist _asshole,_ I fucking knew it,’ Ash snarled, and his hands fisted, he trembled. Augus said nothing for some time. He wasn’t naive. He wasn’t going to explain away what Gwyn had done in the beginning as anything other than rape, regardless of the times he’d enjoyed himself. But he wasn’t interested in hiding from the times he’d done the same to Gwyn. As far as he knew, the sounding he’d perpetrated on Gwyn was the worst thing he’d done to anyone – in terms of the years of consequences it would likely have, whether Gwyn realised it or not – outside of hunting and playing with his food, which didn’t count.

‘Ash,’ Augus said, ‘listen to me. It was mutual. Whatever happened, you must believe that I returned everything doled out to me and then more besides. You know me, I am dominating by nature. You must under-’

‘You’re not telling me that the fucking King of the Seelie fae, that asshole, is a sub. _Your_ sub.’

‘I am telling you that I care for him, that it was mutual, that he decided to free me because – because I’m not sure he ever wanted to deal with prisoners, to be honest. But also because he cares for me.’

‘No, no, you _can’t,_ do you know the things he said to me? Augus, no, he can be _so_ convincing, but trust me, brother, he doesn’t care for you. He can sound like he has your welfare at heart and that he’s doing it all for the right reasons, but-’

‘This is different,’ Augus said, ‘and I know you won’t believe or understand that.’

‘Yeah, accurate,’ Ash grumbled. ‘I don’t like this. I’m tired of tiptoeing around you. The last time someone took you prisoner, you invited him into this goddamned Court.’

‘No,’ Augus said, ‘I didn’t.’

‘Yes, you _did.’_

‘No,’ Augus said, feeling cold. ‘Nothing...’

_...went the way it was supposed to go._

But he remembered that time, remembered how he assured Ash everything would be okay when the Nightmare King returned, remembered falling into a role of charm and subservience that was humiliating and yet so automatic, it was the only cover he could reach for, the only thing he knew to do. He’d been inviting, engaging even while he reeked of fear and the Nightmare King knew it. Augus had then taken him back to the Unseelie Court.

He raised a hand to his forehead, it was damp, he smeared water away.

‘You see why I think you could be a little confused?’ Ash said, stepping towards him. ‘You say spending six months in a cell on your own was like what – okay? Alright? Not that bad?’

Ash didn’t understand that loneliness could be respite, and he certainly didn’t understand how things had been in the years preceding. That there were some things in life worse than spending six months in a cell, alone. There was one thing that Augus knew how to do, it was how to use his mind to his advantage. Give him the time and space to understand something, and he would find a way to make room for it. He would never have voluntarily gone into a cell for months, but being forced into it, he’d finally had the time to learn the line between what he thought was genuine admiration for the Nightmare King, and what was brainwashing.

It turned out there had never been any genuine admiration. Ever.  And in that realisation, he had started to deconstruct at least some of the shackles that had changed him so much.

He didn’t know what to say, watched Ash approach.

Remnant parts of his mind told him that Ash was a waterhorse, like him, and could not be tolerated. But they were drowned deep. Left behind in the depths of lake, amongst silt and mud and tiny jewelled crabs. They didn’t belong aboveground. They never had.

‘There are things about Gwyn,’ Augus said. ‘Things you don’t know. Mitigating circumstances. He’s not what _anyone_ thinks he is.’

He winced. That had come too close. His blood-oath stirred and made his heart skip a beat. He had to be careful. But his mind was shouting the word _Unseelie_ over and over again and he knew how close he was to slipping up.

‘Can we not talk about the guy who ruined our lives, just for like...I don’t know, like five minutes?’

_It wasn’t him, Ash. Gwyn was right, I like a scapegoat, and so do you. We look towards the one who is still alive so we might get our revenge. And he has committed crimes, but not the ones you think._

‘Then perhaps you might enlighten me as to the current state of the Unseelie Court and...anything else that’s been happening. I have been dreadfully behind in all things.’

‘Ah, well, you and me both,’ Ash said on a wry smile. ‘Gulvi knows.’

‘Then let me get myself a rapier first, because I doubt she’s through with me.’

They shared stiff, tense smiles. It wasn’t the easy camaraderie they used to have, but after so much distance and absence, Augus felt like just looking upon his brother in person was a form of nourishment. Perhaps Ash felt the same way, because a few seconds later his smile loosened and became relaxed and easy, and he walked out of his room which had never really been his room. Augus wondered how it must have been, Ash sleeping where Augus had slept, wondering if his brother was dead.

His heart twinged and he raised a hand to it, only to realise he was directly over the Soulbond scar. He sighed, lowered his hand again.

He took the nail file with him as he followed Ash, focusing on his nails; he didn’t like seeing the shadowy places around him.

*

Gulvi didn’t toss a knife at him the first moment she saw him, though her eyes went straight to the rapier strapped at his side and her lips curled. She still gazed at him with the same predatory hunger that he turned towards his prey and his victims when he’d been King. Augus had a necessary respect for Gulvi, though she had been a thorn in his side throughout his reign. He knew very well how she had betrayed the secrets of the Unseelie Court, turning traitor and passing secrets to Gwyn. She could have been justifiably executed for it.

But Gulvi had always belonged to the Raven Prince; she was his hired, freelance assassin. Augus also he had no chance of winning her loyalty when his plan to overthrow the Raven Prince worked. He’d sent several assassins of his own after her, and all had been dispatched. Eventually, he’d given it up. Gulvi’s skills were renowned. Her loyalty was to herself first, the Raven Prince second, and after several assassination attempts had failed, she would never be loyal to Augus.

Gulvi was a hunter, an opportunist, and perhaps one of the most classically Unseelie fae he’d known. He had a plan to use that, if he needed to. It was a risky plan. But at some point, he would need to assert his own power. He wasn’t the Each Uisge for nothing. She had gotten him once, and he was hoping to avoid it again.

She watched him like she knew what he was thinking, but then he did the same thing to her. And there was a game to it. A charged, delicious thrill. It was only that he didn’t want another gut wound in a hurry. And he was unwilling to do her any harm. Ash cared for her, and she had done him an odd but significant favour – as far as he knew, she’d never revealed to Ash that the spate of assassination attempts she’d warded off had come from his own brother.

That wouldn’t have gone down well.

‘So you want to know how you’ve ruined the Court, do you?’ Gulvi said, her voice rich and filled with self-satisfaction.

‘I would like to know what has been happening, and if you must start with my actions as King, then do,’ Augus said. He could goad her later, right now he needed information.

Ash pulled up a chair and straddled it, resting his forearms on the back, his chin on his wrists. He looked simultaneously younger and older all at once. The pose was one he’d used in Augus’ house sometimes – long before Augus had been taken – when he was listened to him talk about his day. But his face was worn now, no longer relaxed.

Gulvi reported crisply and concisely, mercilessly recounting the failings of Augus’ Court – and Augus had to wryly acknowledge that he agreed with many of her assessments, so chose to stay quiet – to Gwyn’s deliberate machinations to put her, and therefore Ash, in power.

‘Did he always intend Ash to be King _alongside_ you?’ Augus said.

A year with Gwyn and he’d never asked. He’d simply assumed that Gwyn wanted someone to manipulate – but Gulvi was hard to manipulate, and Ash hated him. So his assumptions about that situation were flawed.

‘Mm, yes, darling. I believe so. He first seeded the idea that I become Queen, but we had always joked in the past that I was as unsuited to the role as he. I am too ruthless. We are both for battles and assassinations and murder and fieldwork. So I found it curious that he suggested it during your reign. Thinking it over, I realised he always intended it to be the two of us.’

She gestured to Ash eloquently with a clawed hand.

‘But Ash ran away after the Display, and our public relations side of the situation, la, he up and decided to trial almost every type of alcohol he could get his hands on.’

‘Yeah,’ Ash said, grimly. ‘Well.’

‘Favour has turned against us. Ah, but the Court still adores Ash, they feel for him. But it is a sickened Kingdom, and we have not built a Court.’

‘Why? I don’t understand. You know many nobles, you’ve been _hired_ by them. You have good relationships with them.’

‘My work requires discretion. I cannot go and choose the nobles I trust, for they are the ones most likely to be involved in clandestine or criminal organisations, are they not? Other Court fae may then suspect them. Nor can I simply choose those I don’t trust to protect the identities of those I do. I suppose many of the higher ups know whom I’ve worked for in the past, but I – personally – must protect the identities of my clients, regardless of what is public knowledge.’

‘I don’t understand, you’ve had over a _year,’_ Augus said, eyes narrowing. ‘Surely you’ve not been sitting on this issue of assembling a Court, let alone an Inner Court, for a year.’

Gulvi glared at him. Her thumb pad stroked the hilt of one of her daggers. Augus’ hand strayed down to his rapier. Now that he knew to expect them, he could deflect a thrown knife. At least, he _used_ to be able to.

‘Julvia requires care. I will not permit her to be cared for by anyone else. She is fragile. She is all I have left.’

Augus pursed his lips, didn’t reply.

After a tense pause, Gulvi continued, but they both never took their hands away from the hilts of their weapons, and Augus realised that even if she respected the Soulbond, she could make his life very miserable if she wanted to.

Clearly she did.

*

He didn’t offer advice to either of them. Not yet. He needed time to think. He tentatively asked for news from the Seelie Court, and Gulvi gave a noncommittal response that possibly indicated no news. Or she was lying. You could never tell with Gulvi.

His head ached.

He lay on a new bed that night. A guest room yet again. He didn’t like it. Ash had at least not offered him the rooms where the Nightmare King had stayed, but that Ash had offered him rooms at all, chafed. He’d gotten to pick his own rooms in the Seelie Court. It shouldn’t matter, but not being able to simply choose made him feel trapped again. He stared up at a ceiling panelled with a dark, blue-black wood, his thoughts swam.

‘Knock knock,’ Ash said, to announce himself.

‘You’re the King, do what you like,’ Augus said, then realised how that must have sounded. He lifted up, but Ash was already waving him back down.

‘Ah, yeah, no, too many memories of barging in on your room when we were kids, and you throwing monster tantrums in response. Can I sit?’

‘Yes, but I’m getting up,’ Augus said, ‘I need an analgesic.’

Ash didn’t sit, his face fell when Augus got up. He may have wanted a brotherly moment, but Augus’ head pounded. He was still digesting his prey, and it had always made him feel sick when he forced himself back into human-form too early. The Unseelie Court wasn’t helping much either. He dug through the items he’d already collected from Ash’s room, jars and items that were familiar. His fingers unscrewed a jar, plucked out a small tablet he’d made himself. He sniffed it, frowned. It wasn’t good. It had spoiled.

He dropped the tablet and resisted the urge to place both of his hands on the table and bow his head. He was naive. Whatever he’d thought release would be, this wasn’t it.

‘It’s not easy,’ Ash said.

‘Still have that habit of stating the obvious, I see,’ Augus replied, looking at him.

Ash’s smile was forced.

‘You’d think, right? I lost it, for ages. When you came back, _before_ , you know, when you were damaged and hurt and wouldn’t tell me what was going on – I stopped stating the obvious. You didn’t want to talk about it, I didn’t want to push. Look at where we are now.’

‘You...’ Augus stared at him. His chest felt sore. ‘You can’t blame _yourself_ for where we are now.’

‘I dunno,’ Ash shrugged with a single shoulder. ‘No one else was gonna do it, were they? No one else was gonna ask you the tough questions. I should’ve. But you...we didn’t, I  guess we didn’t do that. I was an idiot. Maybe if I’d made you talk to me about it, you wouldn’t have...’

‘Ah,’ Augus said. ‘Still. There was no onus on you to ask anything.’

‘You say that, but I’ve changed too. I’m not gonna hide from the things I don’t really want to know about anymore, and I’m not just the little brother anymore. So I have to. I have to...ask some stuff. Now, pretty much.’

_By the gods, does it have to be now?_

‘Ask it,’ Augus said. He did end up resting both of his hands on the table. He wondered what would happen if he took the tablet, knowing it had spoiled. Probably nothing untoward. But it wouldn’t work, either. Still, he would take a possible placebo effect. He felt nauseous.

‘He raped you didn’t he? And that’s why you raped that frost spirit.’

Augus’ mouth fell open. Of all the things to ask, _this_ was what Ash wanted to talk about? He lowered his hands from the table, turned to face his brother. He didn’t know what to say. Ash being so reductive wasn’t like him.

‘No,’ Augus said, and he was just about to continue speaking, when Ash’s face smoothed with visible relief and he smiled.

‘Oh, thank fuck, I thought that Nightmare King asshole had-’

‘Let me finish...damn it,’ Augus winced. He didn’t want to talk about this with _Ash._ But he didn’t want Ash to make assumptions that were wrong, not in this. He thought he could sense what Ash was trying to do, and it wouldn’t help either of them. ‘Both of those things happened. Yes, I was assaulted. Yes, I raped the frost spirit. But it is not as simple as one leading to the other.’

‘Except that you would never have done it otherwise,’ Ash said, and Augus grimaced.

‘It’s not that simple.’

‘So are you saying you _would?’_ Ash said, incredulous. ‘You? Who has never shown a fucking interest in that sort of thing? Who actually used to go on _rants_ about irresponsible doms who-’

‘Stop,’ Augus said, a spear of pain finding its way into his head.

‘Then what are you saying? I mean-’

‘Stop it! Stop trying to make it simple for yourself, it wasn’t _simple._ Ask me how much I remember of the weeks following the return of the Nightmare King and I don’t have an answer for you because I don’t remember enough to even remember what I’ve lost. And before you jump to conclusions in order to exonerate me, _yes,_ I remember what I did to that frost spirit. The man of shadows did what he did. I did what I did. I don’t know what to make of any of it. I don’t have answers for you. I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘I’m only trying to understand,’ Ash said, face turning earnest, a confusion and determination there that was a sign that Augus wasn’t getting out of the conversation any time soon.

‘ _Stop._ You want this in a neat box, brother. You want me to be like I was before. But I’m _not_ like him anymore. And I will _never_ be like him again. Do you understand? That Augus is gone. You can’t put all of this in a box and shove it into a closet and get the old me back. You just-’

‘Do you think I don’t know that?’ Something of indignation was crossing his brother’s face, turning his lips stubborn. ‘Jesus, Augus. I’m only trying to understand why you would do something you _hated,_ to someone who-’

‘Please,’ Augus said, desperate to make him stop. He didn’t regret _any_ of it and Ash wanted him to, he could see it in Ash’s eyes. But he didn’t, because Ash didn’t know what the Nightmare King had threatened to do to Ash, to Augus. He didn’t know what the Nightmare King had planned. He just didn’t _know._ Augus didn’t want him to know, not ever. Didn’t want him to see the things that the Nightmare King could do to someone, didn’t even want him to hear the threats. But he had to get Ash out of the line of fire, he would have done _anything._ And he’d been desperate to get the Nightmare King’s focus off himself, after...after he’d- _No_. Augus didn’t regret anything he’d done, only that it hadn’t worked. ‘I swear to you, Ash. I have no answers for you. You’ll not get understanding from me. He did what he did. I did what I did. I’m not sorry. I would do it again. In a _heartbeat.’_

Ash stared at him, bewildered. His eyebrows twisted up and together and his chin dimpled as his lower lip pushed into his top, because he didn’t understand and because for all he said otherwise, he did want an Augus that didn’t exist anymore.

Augus turned away from him, that expression. His chest ached. Ash would never understand. He’d carried those living shadows inside of him and he’d still been _Ash._ He didn’t care what Gwyn said about it, Ash had kept his sense of self, his integrity intact. He was...

Augus was obviously just not capable, in quite the same way.

‘I want to be alone,’ Augus said.

‘Please don’t push me away,’ Ash said. ‘It scares me. You pushed me away and then...’

‘Then stop asking me about it,’ Augus said. His eyes were starting to burn. He closed them. ‘You are not some senseless dolt. Stop trying to make it neat and sensible when it is neither.’

‘Because it’s a mess,’ Ash said, stepping forwards. ‘Right? Because it’s a mess and horrible and look at what you went thr-’

‘ _Don’t_ you dare,’ Augus turned, stalked towards him, jabbed a claw into his chest so hard that Ash stumbled backwards. ‘Don’t. I don’t need or want that from you, _ever.’_

‘Then what do you want from me, brother?’

‘Only that, only...’

Augus couldn’t think of what to say. He closed his eyes again. He was upset. He wouldn’t speak of this again. Not ever again.

He frowned when he felt the hand slide up behind his neck, over the back of his head, over his hair, resting. Frowned because Ash was comforting him. Fingers were scratching into the back of his scalp, Ash’s hand broad, gentle. He shuddered.

‘He told me what he did,’ Ash said darkly. ‘He told me some of the things he did to you when he came back. I wanted to hear it from you. I was hoping...I hoped it was a lie.’ 

Augus shook his head, humiliated.

‘You can be as blunt as you want, but you’ll not hear a recollection of that time from me. _Ever.’_

‘Yeah,’ Ash said, stepping closer. ‘Yeah, okay.’

‘Don’t coddle me,’ Augus muttered when Ash’s other hand came up and rested on his shoulder, squeezing.

‘You’re exhausted,’ Ash said. ‘Just...this is for me too. It’s not just for you. You’re not the only one who needs this, okay? Do you get that?’

Augus’ eyes found Ash’s, he felt weak as Ash started stroking his hair quietly.

‘Hey, waterhorse, come lie down,’ Ash said, in that casual way he had of saying everything. Augus huffed out a quiet breath of laughter.

Ash encouraged him onto the bed, keeping a hand on his shoulder. He guided him up the bed and then pushed him down towards the pillows. Augus went without protest, he was tired and how many times had he wanted these moments before his defeat? When the Nightmare King had returned to the Unseelie Court with them, and he’d wanted – that first night – to lie down next to Ash, and instead...

‘I thought it would be different,’ Augus said, his voice stiff. ‘I thought- I was naive, brother. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I used to be...I used to be suited to this world.’

‘Nah,’ Ash said, lying down, facing him. He scooted closer and pressed his forehead against Augus’, cupped the back of his head with his palm and just held Augus’ head to his, like it was valuable, fragile. ‘Nah, you were never suited to this world. Funny that. But you’re not. I mean, you’re a good Advisor, I remember that. I remember that you are good at schmoozing or whatever the fae do when they’re hanging out at their masque balls and shit. Your dra’ocht is pretty handy for making you seem like you know what you’re doing, because well, because it does that. You inspire confidence. But ah, nope, you didn’t ever want this Court.’

Augus’ eyes drifted shut.  His head hurt. He thought he’d feel relaxed. It was uneasiness, anxiety, discomfort instead. Still, Ash’s hand was an anchor, his forehead pressed to Augus’ was familiar. It hadn’t happened in so long. And not like this. Normally it was something Augus was offering to Ash, not the other way around.

Ash began stroking the back of his head again. Augus’ body canted towards Ash’s, seeking an affection he’d missed. He thought of Gwyn alone in the Seelie Court and his brow furrowed, he sighed. He almost said something, but Ash was not someone he could talk to about it. It was a shame, because that was a confusing relationship. He wanted someone to talk to about it who wouldn’t just condemn Gwyn outright.

‘I was going to ask you what Gulvi and I should do next,’ Ash said. ‘I...thought you could be my Advisor. God knows you’ve told me what to do my whole life, pretty much.’

‘The Court obviously needs a _Court,’_ Augus said. ‘Two people in this giant Court alone, with...the handful of servants I’ve seen and no one else...you’d be better off even with people you didn’t know or trust here, than no one at all.’

‘Gulvi is odd about it,’ Ash said. ‘To be honest, she’s not...I mean she’s amazing, and competent, and she is holding shit together by a thread. But we used to joke about it – her and Gwyn as well apparently, who knew – but also me and her. All the time. Like, she works for nobility, but she kind of hates them at the same time. She’s too harsh. The Raven Prince was a pretty even-tempered guy, and you know, he could be harsh, but it always seemed like it was appropriate. I didn’t love the guy, but I respected him.’

‘I can’t be an Advisor to this Court,’ Augus said, losing his train of thought for a second as Ash smoothed out tangles in his hair, lay out strands of waterweed carefully.

‘You’re so different now,’ Ash murmured. ‘Used to be you’d never admit to weaknesses or mistakes or...anything really. I mean sometimes, rarely. But what, today you’ve told me you can’t be an Advisor, that you were naive, that you think there’s something wrong with you. Maybe some of it is your new centre, but your confidence has been shaken. It’s understandable, after everything you’ve been through.’

‘This past year, Ash, it hasn’t been the torment you think it has,’ Augus said, and then felt himself sink closer to sleep with the hand rubbing between his shoulder blades now, redistributing the lazy waves at the base of his mane.

‘Okay, so you say, but your idea of that is _so_ fucked up,’ Ash said, keeping his voice gentle. ‘Bear with me, brother. But you were taken by a monster for a year, and hurt by him terribly, and it turned you mad. And now you look at a year of captivity with a monster not as bad, who didn’t hurt you _as_ badly, and that’s...now you say that’s not the torment I think it was. Augus, you were made to parade yourself – meekly – in front of a crowd of Seelie fae, and you had been injured, and they threw a rock at you, and you _took_ it. That alone, that’s disturbing. Public humiliation doesn’t sit well with you. It never has. That must have been _awful.’_

‘Stop,’ Augus whispered.

The hand pulled Augus closer until they were embracing. Ash’s arm around his back and Augus’ hands sandwiched up between them, fingers curling weakly around each other.

‘And you saw me, and I didn’t come for you. I saw the way you looked at me. I didn’t...I couldn’t do anything at the time, but I remembered later. I saw you, brother. Tell me that was not a torment for you.’

‘By the gods, Ash. Just _stop.’_

‘That was one night. In a year. So maybe the last few months have been alright and I don’t know. We’ll see. But-’

Augus couldn’t listen to this anymore, he jerked hard, tried to get away, but Ash’s arm tightened around him and wasn’t moving, even though Augus continued to strain against him.

‘Shit, I’m stopping,’ Ash said. ‘Fuck. I’m sorry. I’m working this out too. I’m sorry. The shadows changed me. I’m not as tactful as I used to be. And I used to not-’

‘-Be very tactful in the first place,’ Augus finished. He tried to ignore the fact that they could both hear his breathing. He tried to calm himself. He didn’t like to think of that Display. ‘They changed you?’

‘I just find it harder to...stop myself. Easier to hunt. I hunt more now. Every three weeks at least.’

Augus’ eyes opened, he tried to tilt his head back to get a look at Ash’s face, but Ash was holding him too close and wasn’t letting him go.

‘You would go two months, three months.’

Ash laughed weakly.

‘I might again one day. I dunno. But they made me hungrier. I don’t know. It wasn’t so bad at first, but over time it got worse. I mean I had them for a little while. I didn’t think anything of it, like, when they’re there, you don’t really notice them? But when they were gone I realised that I was not...I don’t trust myself in the same way I used to. I feel like, I dunno, I’m just not the same as I used to be. Does it- does it go away?’

‘I hope so,’ Augus said, though he didn’t know if it would. He hoped it would for Ash. He was so minimally affected by the shadows overall, perhaps it would. Augus knew some of the changes inside himself were permanent. He didn’t know how he knew, only that it was like scar tissue in his mind, he couldn’t alter it.

Ash took a deep, shuddering breath, turned his head towards the pillows abruptly, burrowing closer to Augus like he used to after a night terror. There was a familiar hitch to his breath that hurt Augus to hear it. At once he lifted one of the arms trapped between them and wrapped it around Ash’s back, digging his fingers in, reminding him that he was there. He said nothing. He didn’t need to.

Ash wept quietly, had always been so quick to display his emotions, and if he wanted to sob, he would sob. But he seemed just as exhausted as Augus, he didn’t seem to have the energy for anything more than shuddered breaths, the helpless lean into Augus, as though his big brother could make everything okay again.

It hurt Augus’ heart.

Gwyn had asked him what he regretted. Gulvi had asked him if he had anything to say for himself.

This... _this_ he regretted. He pulled Ash so close that they ended up tangled together, hair touching, breath mingling. Ash eventually relaxed and made a small sound of sad satisfaction. Between the two of them, Ash had always been unashamed of his emotional outbursts. His joy, his anger, his grief. He could cry and he’d not feel unmanned or humiliated for doing so. Augus rubbed circles into his back, felt his breathing slow.

‘You need it too,’ Ash said, his voice lax with tiredness. ‘You need to sleep.’

‘I’ll doze,’ Augus said, because he did need something. Some kind of rest. In lieu of sleep, dozing would be fine.

Ash separated from him just enough to look him in the eyes. His own hazel eyes were bloodshot, two tiny droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes.

‘You still have those nightmares, don’t you?’ Ash said, sounding like he might start crying again.

Augus shrugged, looked over Ash’s shoulder instead.

‘Fucking hell,’ Ash mumbled. ‘Fucking...fuck all of this.’

He pulled Augus close again, sliding his other arm under Augus’ neck, wouldn’t let go. Augus decided, even though he wasn’t entirely comfortable, he didn’t mind.

Ash fell asleep quickly, and Augus allowed a doze to steal over him. He didn’t want Ash to see his nightmares again. He’d already seen so much of what Augus had become. He didn’t need to see that too. Not like this.

During his doze his mind drifted as it had underwater. He saw, over and over again, sunlight breaking through clouds, a name rested heavy and metallic on his tongue. He shaped it silently as he rested, without realising.

*

Augus snapped out of his doze abruptly when Ash got up and untangled their limbs. One of the few servants in the entire Court was leaning in the door. An Unseelie common fae, looking faintly concerned, eyes narrowing to see Augus.

Ash stretched, slid off the bed.

‘Yeah, hit me up.’

‘Gulvi says you must come to the throne room immediately. Both of you. Something has happened.’

‘Like what?’

‘A messenger has arrived from the Seelie Court. He cannot give his message until you’re there, Your Majesty.’

‘Uh huh. Okay. Cheers. You can go do your own thing now.’

The fae nodded formally, retreated. Ash yawned hugely, turned back to Augus, raising his eyebrows in that way he did to indicate that he had no idea what was going on. Augus slid off the bed. He would need sleep soon, but the doze had helped. And – he realised – the presence of his brother. It really had been too long since they’d spent time together like that.

Some other species of fae didn’t understand it, but many waterhorses craved affection, even those that led solitary lives. Augus and Ash had a rare opportunity throughout their lives to indulge physical affection and comfort, and he’d often wondered if the self-reinforcing cycle of offering comfort to each other had taken them even further away from their predatory instincts.

For even Augus didn’t hunt frequently, and although he attributed it to his prey being rare, it didn’t quite explain everything.

He was still dressed, though his shirt was rumpled. He smoothed it absently. Ash yawned again as they both left the room, Augus rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. There was no one here to see him do it except for Ash, and Ash had seen him do it before.

A Seelie Court messenger.

Augus’ lips thinned.

Crielle had been threatening Gwyn. He’d gone and released Augus. His Court was unstable. People had noticed the Soulbond, even if they weren’t sure what it was. There were too many things that could go wrong, and all of them serious.

_He released you, and he’s still stuck, and all that work you were going to do..._

But he _needed_ to eat, he needed to digest, he would have been useless otherwise.

Why hadn’t he agreed to meet with Gwyn somewhere after he’d been released? Just to see if he was alright? At least then he’d not be so concerned now, which felt like a waste of his time.

_Yes, keep telling yourself that it’s a waste of your time and you’d rather just be done with it all. Very convincing, Augus. Very._

Augus lifted his head to the side door into the throne-room, saw a sharp movement in the shadows in the corner of his vision.

He lurched sideways, slammed into the opposite wall, his knees almost buckled. He stared into the beady eyes of a silvery rat that had run out of the darkness, catching his breath.

_Damn it._

He hadn’t wanted Ash to see that.

Ash reached out a hand to him and Augus smacked it away, not willing to look up and see the expression on his face.

‘By the gods, I hate this Court,’ Augus laughed, his voice sounding thready.

‘Augus...’ Ash said, pressing on him with the weight of his voice. ‘You-’

‘I don’t hate it,’ Augus amended quickly. ‘I don’t. It will just be very nice, _very,_ when it doesn’t look like this anymore.’

He stood up, glared at the rat, ran a hand through his hair and then stilled when Ash repeated the gesture with his own hand, feathering fingers through his hair far more gently, before returning up and rubbing at the back of his head. Augus’ eyes lifted to his reluctantly, and he offered a rueful smile.

‘I wasn’t like this in the cell, nor in the Seelie Court. Imagine that. All that Seelie presence and not once did I...not once.’

‘You have bad memories of this place,’ Ash said. He grimaced. ‘Did he ambush you in here?’

‘Oh, I don’t want your _pity,’_ Augus spat, stepping sideways out of his reach.

‘It’s not fucking pity,’ Ash snarled. ‘Stop acting like you’re better than someone giving a shit about this. Of course you’d be trying to cope with all of this with your superiority complex. Jesus, Augus.’

Augus began to snipe back, and then laughed weakly at the two of them standing in the Unseelie Court, bickering. He’d missed this too. They’d never seen eye to eye on many things. It was...familiar. Ash joined him, leaned against the opposite wall, close to the shadows that Augus had been eyeing off cautiously.

For the Nightmare King _had_ ambushed him here. Just before the side entrance to the throne-room. He raised a hand to his neck, touched his own clavicle, reminded himself that things were different.

‘I’m going to kill that rat,’ Augus said, as it ran off.

‘Nope,’ Ash said, forcing a smile into his voice. Augus appreciated it, sighed, shook his head.

‘I’m just dazed from resting.’

‘Yeah, okay, we’ll go with that,’ Ash said, keeping his voice soft and knowing in a way that chafed at his skin. ‘I didn’t realise, Augus. If I’d thought about it, I would’ve changed the whole Court. I dunno, Gulvi and I couldn’t decide on how we wanted it to go, and it turns out when the co-Queen and co-King aren’t in agreement, they can’t change the appearance of the Court. Like, we can’t just take our own sections.’

‘Let me guess, you want some kind of casino party lounge, and she wants an eyrie?’

‘Ah,’ Ash laughed. ‘Fuck, let’s get this messenger thing out of the way, yeah? Maybe we can leave the Court today. We’ve got access to the four wards, so we can make you pretty safe. Especially with that invisibility of yours. I don’t think it’s good for you to spend long periods here.’

_Or anywhere,_ Augus thought, shaking his head at himself, at how he’d reacted.

He was far more composed when they entered the throne-room. Gulvi was talking to the messenger, but she seemed to be asking general questions, and the messenger was talking not about the Seelie Court, but about his own family. He was a badger shifter – though in human-form – his hair wore the telltale stripes, there was a broadness and length to his nose and mouth which indicated he’d never quite fit in the human world. His hands were badger paws, clawed and strong. He held a sealed scroll in his thick hands.

Augus wondered how angry at himself he’d be if he acknowledged that he wanted to sneak a look at Gwyn’s calligraphy.

As soon as Ash entered, the Seelie messenger nodded in acknowledgement and looked to Gulvi for permission to break the wax seal. Gulvi waved a hand at him, and he did, and Augus caught a calligraphy that was too angular to be Gwyn’s.

The badger fae’s voice was fine, strident. It was the only thought that Augus had before he heard the words themselves:

‘King Albion of the Atlantic, Seelie King of the Seelie Kingdom and its Court and people, informs you that Gwyn ap Nudd, former King of the Seelie Court, has been demoted to underfae and imprisoned for crimes of treason and licgancy. He has released the prisoner Augus Each Uisge from Seelie Custody...’

At that the badger fae trailed off and looked at Augus. He could smell the sharp scent of the badger fae’s fear. He smiled without thinking, despite the heavy, pounding thud of terror in his own heart.

_Fear everywhere._

‘It has also been revealed that Gwyn ap Nudd has been masquerading as a Seelie fae using Old Lore to assist him, and he-’

‘No,’ Augus breathed.

‘-And he has been exposed as the Unseelie fae that he is. Sentencing has not yet taken place, but execution is expected within the week. You have precisely seven days to intervene if you wish to, given that he is one of yours and belongs to your Kingdom. Please arrange an audience with Albion at your convenience, if you so wish, but do not expect leniency. The crime of licgancy is taken most seriously by the Seelie Court.’

The badger fae rolled up the parchment and waited expectantly.

Gulvi was staring, her black eyes wide and shocked. Ash looked like he’d been struck.

‘What of Crielle?’ Augus said to the messenger, causing him to take a frightened step backwards. ‘Tell me, what of Crielle? What of her crimes?’

‘Sir,’ the messenger stuttered.

‘ _Tell me!’_ Augus’ mind was racing, he tasted bile, felt the sensation of being pulled underwater quickly and oh, this could be what drowning felt like.

‘Sir, she’s been placed under temporary house arrest, at the An-Fnwy estate. Albion determines her role in Gwyn’s licgancy.’

‘Her role,’ Augus said darkly, shaking his head, seeming to be the only one who could function amongst the shock of the others. _Licgancy,_ a Seelie crime, it didn’t even register in the Unseelie Court. It was the crime of lying on a grand scale, considered separate to treason. It was...Augus had been right – in a single moment, Gwyn was a pariah. ‘And house arrest? At the An-Fnwy estate? How terribly taxing for her, however will she manage?’

_Oh, Gwyn._

Demoted. To underfae. Imprisoned. Was he still alive though? They said he was, pending execution, but...

_Execution._

Gwyn knew, the idiot _knew_ this was coming. He’d been so evasive for so long. He must have known.

‘Were you there?’ Augus said suddenly. ‘Were you there when they revealed he was Unseelie?’

‘Wait a fucking minute,’ Ash said, his voice breaking. ‘Augus, did you know? Did you know he was Unseelie?’

Gulvi gave a small laugh that was more stunned than anything.

‘I knew,’ Augus said, looking at Ash. ‘I blood-oathed not to tell anyone until it became public knowledge, which, at the time, we had assumed would be _never_. I also oathed not to use it against him. But it turns out that _I_ didn’t need worry about that, because the Seelie Court has it well in hand. _King_ Albion indeed.’ He turned to the messenger. ‘Were you there?’

The badger fae nodded, took another step backwards, then another.

‘Then _tell me what happened,’_ Augus said, his voice hardening on his compulsion.

‘He was dragged up onto the dais in the throne-room, Crielle was very upset, and they cut him open and removed an Old Lore aithwick that had been hiding his true alignment. The traitor was unanimously voted out of Kingship, with the exception of Ondine, who did not vote. He was demoted and he passed out and was taken to the cells. Albion was made King.’

Augus turned to Ash, thinking he might be ill.

‘Organise the meeting with Albion.’

‘La, little thing, do you _care_ for him?’ Gulvi said, shock giving way to a cruel delight. Augus turned to her, eyes widening.

‘As do you,’ Augus said, voice low, faintly desperate.

‘And you want us to organise this meeting and intervene? What can we do? Our Court is fragile. We have no military. We cannot simply request he be given to us, they will not give him back.’

‘I don’t want him back, he doesn’t fucking belong in this Court or with us, he’s not one of us,’ Ash growled. ‘He’s been working against his own kind all his life. Let him be executed.’

‘Organise the meeting,’ Augus said, ignoring the way he felt at what Ash had just said. He’d _told_ Ash he cared for him, and it mattered not at all, clearly. ‘Let me come with you, I have spent far more time in his company than either of you, you must-’

‘Dear me, I think you’ll stay here,’ Gulvi said, her eyes gleaming. Augus was playing his hands poorly, still not thinking straight. He straightened further, glared at her.

‘No,’ Augus said, staring at her, ‘you- I am Inner Court, and you will-’

‘Charming,’ Gulvi said, baring her teeth. ‘You _do_ care for him. What a hook to have you twisting on, waterhorse. Well, I think the King and I must discuss what we are going to do about this, yes?’

She looked at Ash, and Ash was watching Augus, a frown on his face.

‘Yeah,’ Ash said.

‘No!’ Augus winced at his own voice. ‘No, listen to me. _Listen._ He is one of the most powerful fae I’ve come across – he’s classless, he’s _Unseelie,_ and he’s been forced into a lie by his family all his life. It’s not a coincidence that he was the first ‘Seelie’ King to end up running the Wild Hunt, and it’s not a coincidence that amongst his so-called friends, he counts mostly Unseelie fae. Gulvi, hate me as you wish, but he is your friend.’

Gulvi was listening, he knew. But he realised he’d thrown a compulsion into what he’d been saying in his desperation. He was spilling out all over. He was a flooding lake. His mind unhelpfully threw up an image of Gwyn on the dais. He felt the smallest moment of vindication to imagine him demoted. Now Gwyn knew what _that_ felt like. But Gwyn...he had no concept of what it was to be underfae. It was a miracle he’d even survived. And Crielle would have been there, it must have been- Augus remembered well how his own Display had gone, it must have been _awful_.

The badger fae was staring at them all in shock, and Augus realised that he would report back all of this back to the King. Augus wasn’t around trows anymore. He’d been in a safe environment – relatively – for some time. It wasn’t so anymore.

‘Can he not wait in the antechamber?’ Augus said, pointing to him. Ash nodded and then took the badger fae away with him, towards a room designed for Seelie visitors.

‘Caring for your captor? La, Augus, that’s so tedious, even for you,’ Gulvi said under her breath.

‘Gulvi,’ Augus said, deciding that he didn’t have the energy to play this with his usual reserve. ‘Hate me, throw your knives at me, whatever you must do, _do it._ But he would be an asset if you could find a way to-’

‘Albion will not give him to us,’ Gulvi said coldly.

‘At least let us find out if Gwyn still lives.’

‘That’s unlikely,’ Gulvi said. ‘It may also be a trap, to find out if we knew. Albion is canny. We are drastically underpowered against him. He is saltwater fae, he lives and deals with saltwater fae. And we are _all_ of us freshwater. That alone puts us at the disadvantage, don’t you think?’

‘Gulvi, listen-’

‘ _Listen to me,’_ Gulvi snapped, her eyes flickering up to see if Ash was returning yet. ‘You listen, you foul thing. You are nothing, here. We are all nothing. We were engineered into power by _Gwyn._ How do you think it looks? He has not only lied to the Court, but to _me_ , and I-’

She broke off, looked off into the distance, as though considering something.

‘I need to know if he lives. Take me with you,’ Augus said. ‘Ash would have him executed, and-’

‘Silence,’ Gulvi snapped. Augus subsided, grinding his teeth together, resisting the urge to pull hands through his hair.

‘You care for him,’ Augus whispered.

The hand had come up and down across his cheek in a blur of speed, claws sliced across his cheek.

‘ _Oi!’_ Ash shouted, and then footsteps running towards them both.

‘He disobeyed his Queen,’ Gulvi said, glaring at Ash then Augus.

Augus’ breath was coming faster as blood dripped down his face. He hadn’t predicted this. He hadn’t foreseen any of it. He needed a moment. He couldn’t think. He turned and walked away from both of them, staring at the old thrones, the ones he and his own Inner Court had used. He closed his eyes to them, but could still see the Nightmare King’s throne tipped back against the wall, forced himself to slow his breathing.

_Master yourself._

There, his breathing was calming, the surface of the tumultuous thoughts in his mind were settling and becoming still. He’d revealed too much of himself to people who didn’t care about either him or Gwyn. He was in a dangerous situation. It would make the most sense to cut his losses, to give Gwyn up for execution, to make the most of his remaining life.

But even though it made the most sense, it was not an option he could consider. Not anymore.  

Augus turned back to them both. He had no idea how much time had passed.

‘He has been in that Seelie Court for some time, and he has read and memorised most of their war and battle and military scrolls. He is underfae, and so can be compelled easily to reveal the Court’s weaknesses and strengths.’

He was bluffing, he had no idea if Gwyn could be compelled. He was almost certain he could. He’d never met an underfae that could block his compulsions. Not even Gwyn was likely lucky enough to escape with that inner wall of his intact.

‘Albion in all likelihood will not give him to us, I do understand that. But Gwyn is an asset to this Court, and he can be taught loyalty. We have our own prison, and could easily hold him here. But in lieu of that, at the very least, it would reflect well on you both to at least check on him. If Albion believes you are both in league with him, checking on Gwyn’s welfare could unsettle him and make him wonder what you have planned. Especially if you pretend you knew all along. Albion likely suspects that Gwyn had a plan in placing you both in power – for those are the rumours, and they have no doubt reached Albion’s ears.’

Augus licked at his lips, kept his fear deep in the waters of his mind.

‘I have known of Gwyn’s Unseelie alignment for some time. I believe I should come with you. Not only because of this, but because I think it would aggravate Albion to have me there, the prisoner of the Seelie Court, released by the Court’s former King. You want Albion off-centre as much as possible. Yes, he is dangerous, but you are both equal to him, and he is bound by many of the old laws not to do any harm to us during meetings of mutual need. He may attack later, but that might come regardless of what we do now.’

Augus spread his hands, only then realising how heavy his dra’ocht was rolling off him, a defence mechanism. He wanted to be _believed._

‘Gwyn ap Nudd hasn’t lied to you of his own volition. His family situation was fractious and he was forced into this guise of a Seelie alignment to appease his parents, who could not betray Crielle’s centre of appearance and her concern for reputation. They are famous for-’

‘Always throwing Seelie fae,’ Gulvi said, speculatively. ‘Mm, yes they are. It is their catch-cry. To adopt Gwyn out to the Unseelie Court...’

‘It would reflect on them too poorly. Do not underestimate their roles in this.’

Augus felt like he would be sick. He pushed that away too.

He wiped his own blood off his neck. It was beading on his shirt and falling off. The water-wicking fabric came in handy for blood as much as water.

‘We will take what you’ve said into consideration,’ Gulvi said with a faux-sweetness, and took Ash by the forearm. ‘We need to discuss this. Without you.’

Augus watched them go, wondering what Ash saw on his face when he turned to look at him over his shoulder.

When the doors closed behind them, Augus turned to the side and retched violently. He brought up no food, his body having tucked away the energy of the humans he’d eaten, but the motions wracked him for a full minute, his hands clutching at his own gut. He trembled in spasms, allowed himself to be overtaken while no one could see him. And then he wiped saliva from his mouth with the back of his hand and forced himself to straighten, forced his breathing to calm.

What did Gulvi’s friendship with Gwyn count for? Because if it wasn’t as strong as Ash’s hatred, then Gwyn would be-

_No. Ash will listen to you. Ash-_

He wasn’t sure.

Still, he’d presented his arguments as well as he could in the moment. He’d...depersonalised them.

_And look, Gwyn is imprisoned and about to be executed, just as he always wanted. That’s perfect for him, really._

Augus laughed at his own thoughts, then closed his eyes and bit his own tongue.

The idiot had a deathwish. Had actively planned to die in the past. But none of those things could likely have prepared him for what he’d just experienced. He was utterly alone in that Court. Except that...Ondine hadn’t voted. He hadn’t expected that. But still, that didn’t mean he had any friends in the Seelie Court, only that a single person had perhaps taken mercy on him.

Augus began to pace.

At least half an hour passed before the side door opened and Ash and Gulvi returned, walking towards him. When Ash saw Augus’ face, his face pinched in concern, then his eyes turned hard, he looked angry.

‘Well, I’m outnumbered,’ Ash laughed. ‘I need a drink. I’ll be back in a few hours.’

He walked straight past Augus in the opposite direction, towards the lake where he could teleport easily, slammed the door behind him as he left.

He stared at Gulvi, who in turn watched Ash leave, unhappy. She didn’t like going against him, but Augus supposed she’d had to get used to it over the past year.

‘Thank you,’ Augus said, realising that the meeting had gone ahead.

In a second, Gulvi’s hand was holding him by the collar, her wings had flared, a curved dagger was at his throat and Augus had his own hands hovering over several nasty pressure points in her torso, ready to strike back. They stared at each other, squaring off. She glared at him, Augus stared back determined.

‘Make no mistake,’ Gulvi snapped, ‘you are _lucky_ that I am friends with both Gwyn and Ash, for nothing would please me better than to come at you through your loved ones. Think about that, for a minute. I _like_ that this hurts you. And if I didn’t think I’d be hurting this Court, and myself in the process, I would let Gwyn be executed by the Seelie Court in an instant just to watch you make more of these delicious, frightened expressions of yours. I can smell your fear, you horrid, mess of a fae, and I _revel_ in it. You have not Ash’s sympathy, nor his support in this. And you do not have _mine.’_

‘Take me with you,’ Augus gasped as the knife cut into his throat faintly. He pressed down on a pressure point, and now they were both hurting each other.

All at once Gulvi let go and stepped back, wind swirling around them. Augus was now bleeding from six places thanks to her. Five points on his face. One point on his neck. He was starting to heal already, but still. Gulvi was all sharp edges, in more ways than one.

‘You’ve seen the oath I took for the Soulbond, have you not?’ Augus said.

Gulvi stared at him, expression hard. She had.

‘You know what I’ve oathed for Ash’s life. You know that I can’t work against this Court, _you,_ them, whomever. You know that.’

‘I loathe you,’ Gulvi said, grinning at him.

‘Let me come to the meeting with Albion.’

‘Oh, you’re coming. As our tame, underfoot prisoner. You belong to us now. And you’d do well to remember that I am your Queen. Perhaps you should start calling me ‘Your Majesty.’’

Augus exhaled slowly. Forced himself to remain calm. It was imperative.

_Stay calm._

Gulvi laughed a sweet, rich laugh at him.

He didn’t realise he was growling until her laugh became louder. But then it tapered off, as Augus’ growl did, and she tilted her head at him.

‘He told you he was Unseelie?’ Gulvi said, something odd in her voice.

‘I guessed,’ Augus said. ‘He was vulnerable, he’d just had a nightmare. He let something slip. It was a coincidence.’

_I wouldn’t know now, if it wasn’t for that. I’d still be there, most likely. I’d not be released, but for that guess._

‘A nightmare? You were in his bed?’

‘We...’ Augus turned to look at the door through which Ash had exited. ‘We are close.’

‘How did you become close?’ Gulvi said, and Augus shrugged.

‘He never wanted to keep a prisoner, but he didn’t want to kill me either.’

‘Why?’ Gulvi’s eyes narrowed.

‘It’s not my place to say. I will not betray his confidence.’

But that was a code, and many of the Unseelie fae understood what it meant. Even Gulvi. She sheathed her knife and looked confused.

‘He was a client of yours,’ she said, flatly. ‘When?’

‘A time ago, before he was King. When his centre turned to Wildness. Then. Immediately after the massacre of Nwython’s army.’

Gulvi hummed in the back of her throat and stroked a finger across her chin, thoughtfully. Then she reached behind and scratched at one of the bony arches of her wings. ugus had no idea if it was a self-soothing gesture or not. He watched her for several more seconds, and then thoughts of Gwyn being demoted overwhelmed him again and he held back his nausea.

He tried.

He was bending double again, retching before he could stop himself, one arm wrapped around his torso, the other on the hilt of his rapier, sure that Gulvi would stab him while she had the chance.

She didn’t, and he straightened slowly when he was done, daring her to say something.

‘You _love_ him,’ Gulvi said, and Augus couldn’t pick her expression. Disgust? Horror? Recognition?

‘Well, you know what that’s like, don’t you?’ Augus said, voice hoarse. ‘You have your own idiot.’

He thought Gulvi would gloat, because he would have if the situation was reversed. But instead she simply shook her head at him faintly, disappeared in a small, fierce whirl of wind. Several small feathers landed on the floor where she’d stood, and then just like that he was alone in the throne-room, having no idea when the meeting would happen, which one of them was organising the meeting, whether that badger fae was just waiting in the antechamber. They hadn’t forgotten about him, had they?

Augus laughed softly.

This was a _broken_ Court – he’d lain the foundation for it to be so.

He had to sort himself out, quickly. He wouldn’t do anyone any good fretting about the circumstances he and Gwyn found themselves in, he needed to focus himself. He decided to make use of one of the training rooms, move through old rapier drills that the Raven Prince had taught him. He needed his wits about him. He had debts to square. He wasn’t the only one who needed to be released from a prison. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, 'Underfae:'
> 
> ‘He has experience,’ Alysia said, looking over shoulder at Albion, the fins on her head flaring before settling down again. She turned back to Gwyn, offered him a smile that was all teeth, sharpened canines. ‘This shall be simple, Gwyn ap Nudd. We will ask you questions and you shall answer them. If you choose not to answer them, I am the Court’s official interrogator, torturer and executioner, and you can trust that I can make your time down here quite unpleasant. However, if you answer them, someone will bring you some food before you are executed, and your time down here will be almost pleasant, certainly more comfortable than it is now.’


	38. Underfae

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New tags: none.
> 
> Hello everyone! I am back in Perth! I have bronchitis! And a fever! Exclamation points!!! I'll get better soon though, and in the meantime I'm happy to present a new chapter of _Game Theory_. 
> 
> As always your comments are so much love, as is any other interaction you offer the fic (including just reading it! <3 Thank you for sticking around so long. Not much longer left to go now - since it ends on chapter 44. There may or may not be a sequel. Shhh. No one wants to read a sequel. There's already too many words.)

Gwyn wasn’t aware of how much time had passed when he became lucid – well enough to force himself upright into a standing position without fainting. It was odd to feel the fragility of his bones. He knew, more than ever, how easily they could be broken.

His rib hadn’t healed.

The skin had started to knit together, but it was a constant throbbing pain. He suspected the tip of the rib wasn’t growing back after all, as it would have done if he were Court or higher. Then again, when they executed him, it wouldn’t be a problem anymore.

He had no idea when that would be.

He paced the cell, stared down the corridor, counted the were-lights and the torches, picked up the stray bit of rope he’d left behind from binding Augus all those months ago. He tried, at one point, standing push-ups, since he didn’t think he could manage normal push-ups. But he couldn’t manage them standing up either. After placing his palms flat against the wall and pushing his body-weight back away from it, his rib flared so badly that he’d sagged against the dirt and roots and panted for so long he lost track of time.

Dozing was easier. He was used to dozing on the ground or in uncomfortable places. All those years out on military tours. Once he even let himself sleep, but nightmares chased him awake again and he couldn’t enter a proper sleep cycle.

Sometimes he reached for his light to make sure it was still there, and he didn’t know if he was pleased or disappointed that it was. It felt diminished, but it still felt dangerous and unpredictable. He kept it shoved down just in case.

He wondered what sort of execution awaited him.

Public, probably. How had the Oak King done it? Beheading had been his preference. Queen Titania before him had enjoyed quartering. Who knew what Albion preferred.

He ran his hands along the cell walls, to feel the texture, to give him something to do. Being stuck alone with his own thoughts, losing track of time, he began to realise how much inner strength and fortitude it must have taken for Augus to manage six months alone in a cell and end up _healthier._ Because Gwyn didn’t think he would be likely to head in the same direction. His mind was a fray of words and odd flashes of emotions he couldn’t pick. It felt like a lightning storm.

Sometimes he touched his palms to the invisible barrier of energy that stopped him from leaving the cell. It didn’t hurt, but it was impenetrable. It was a reminder he wasn’t King. Sometimes he liked to touch it. Sometimes he avoided it and stayed on the opposite side of the cell.

He had hours where he indulged thoughts of Augus, and others where he tried to stop himself because it wasn’t worth it anymore.

One day...evening...he couldn’t be sure, his eyes began to burn and then he was shuddering out long, awful breaths, one after the other. Tears tracked down his face and he stared at the wall bewildered, because he didn’t feel particularly sad, he didn’t feel much of _anything._ And he hadn’t been thinking about anything that would make him react this way. So he watched the wall and tried to understand what was happening to him, but he couldn’t, and eventually it stopped and he felt just as numb as before.

Often, he sat on the tree root and tilted his head back against the wall, trying to ignore how hungry he was. But it was getting harder. He’d never gone quite so long without food. He wasn’t like other fae. Even when he’d been King, he’d needed to eat far more often than the average fae. His stomach gnawed at him. At one point he scraped off a bit of dirt from the walls and tasted it, just to have something in his mouth. No one saw him, but he flushed anyway.

Time crept on past. His rib throbbed. He got regular headaches. That was new.

He didn’t like being underfae.

He felt weak.

*

He was dozing when they came for him.

He opened his eyes at the footsteps, slime trickling all through his body to see Albion behind two others. He wore the crown. He looked very regal. He was already doing a far better job than Gwyn had ever done.

The other two he didn’t recognise. The woman on the left had fins protruding from either side of her head, flashing a gunmetal grey with silvery green threads all the way through. And behind that, pale green hair was fashioned into a straight, short, severe cut. She was tall, her fingers webbed. Merfolk, then. The other looked to be common fae.

‘Is this it, then?’ Gwyn said, looking past them to Albion.

‘You are to be interrogated,’ Albion said, and Gwyn nodded grimly.

He’d wondered.

That’s what he would have done.

‘I wouldn’t mind some food. I’m finding it quite hard to concentrate.’

‘You don’t need to concentrate. Mikkel here will assist you.’

All three walked easily through the barrier, and suddenly the small cell was crowded. Gwyn stood, facing them all. Then he saw pale brown eyes and locked onto Mikkel, forgetting the others. It had been...it had been a long time since he’d seen pale brown.

‘He’s afraid,’ Mikkel said. ‘Not particularly of this, but of me.’

‘A Reader,’ Gwyn said, turning his gaze to Albion. ‘Really?’

‘You’ve been lying to everyone for thousands of years. Now that the aithwick is gone, I thought a Reader was apt. Alysia, our prisoner looks uncomfortable. Why don’t you help him sit down?’

Alysia – the mermaid in her human-form – delivered a swift punch to the stomach and the pain rocked through his injured rib. He fell clumsily, awkwardly, hands reaching out to the wall. He gasped. But even as he felt the horror of his own stupid, fragile body betraying him, his mind started to slip into an older mindset. Torture, he’d done that before. Interrogation too. None of this was new. Unpleasant, but many things were unpleasant.

‘He’s less afraid,’ the Reader said, calmly. He looked at Gwyn with curiosity in the rise of one thick eyebrow.

‘He has experience,’ Alysia said, looking over shoulder at Albion, the fins on her head flaring before settling down again. She turned back to Gwyn, offered him a smile that was all teeth, sharpened canines. ‘This shall be simple, Gwyn ap Nudd. We will ask you questions and you shall answer them. If you choose not to answer them, I am the Court’s official interrogator, torturer _and_ executioner, and you can trust that I can make your time down here quite unpleasant. However, if you answer them, someone will bring you some food before you are executed, and your time down here will be almost pleasant, certainly more comfortable than it is now.’

‘Ask your questions,’ Gwyn rasped. He wanted the food. They already knew he was Unseelie, what more was there? He’d never tried to protect any other secret as much.

‘How did you orchestrate being voted in as King? Did Crielle help you?’

Gwyn couldn’t laugh. His ribs hurt too much. But the dry huff of breath he offered was disdain enough.

‘I didn’t orchestrate becoming King. I never wanted to be King. Crielle never wanted me to be King.’

‘All true,’ the Reader said calmly, sounding almost bored. Gwyn wanted to block his mind off to him, but Readers weren’t like other empaths. They could not be blocked. It was a relief that there were so few of them in the world. The aithwick was the only thing that protected him from them, and even then, it only protected his secret. Even Mafydd could Read his emotions.

‘Have you ever passed secrets along to the Unseelie Court?’

Gwyn opened his mouth to reply, and then paused. Did researching the Old Lore and passing the information on the Soulbond along to Ash count? It probably did. He’d helped Gulvi a few times. He wasn’t sure what to say. He scrambled something together and-

‘He’s preparing to lie,’ the Reader said. ‘He has, but he’s unsure if it counts. I don’t think it was ever his _intention_ to betray Seelie information to the Unseelie Court, but it’s happened.’

‘Often?’ Alysia said, never taking her eyes away from Gwyn. They, like her hair, were pale green. She was comely, she had the bearing of a warrior, but there was a long, jewelled earring that hung from her left ear that indicated she might be merfolk royalty. They had their own Kingdom. Perhaps a Princess, or one of the other noble classes.

‘Not often,’ the Reader answered for him.

‘We’ll get to that later. Did you, after the defeat of Augus Each Uisge, organise to place your own King and Queen in the Unseelie Court, so you could influence and have access to that Court?’

‘Yes,’ Gwyn said, shaking his head when he realised what that would look like. He’d only done it to try and make sure there was less conflict, not to...not to _betray_ people. Albion made a sound of disgust behind them both, Gwyn looked at him levelly. ‘It had nothing to do with my being...the alignment that I am. The fae world had come through a time of immense conflict, and the Unseelie Court was unstable. Gulvi had betrayed her own alignment to pass information onto _me,_ so that I might effectively bring down Augus – you remember –and I thought she might be a Queen I could influence, so that there was less needless destruction.’

‘True,’ the Reader said. ‘For the record, he doesn’t think of himself as Unseelie. He doesn’t _feel_ that way to me. He hasn’t accepted it. Though he doesn’t think he’s Seelie either. Huh.’

Gwyn averted his eyes then, feeling invaded and bare in a way that made him nauseous. He stared down the corridor. This Reader had far more sophistication than Mafydd, was obviously trained.

‘Ah, he’s afraid of me again,’ the Reader said, smiling.

‘He hasn’t accepted it?’ Albion was speaking now, and that surprised Gwyn. ‘Gwyn, what influence did Crielle have, in all of this? Why did she not tell us of your alignment sooner?’

‘And now he thinks you’re an idiot,’ the Reader said, and Gwyn held back a smile.

‘Crielle’s centre is appearance,’ Gwyn said. ‘Think about it.’

But he was tired of this, tired of what they were trying to get at. All these ways of finding out how badly he’d betrayed them, how much he’d planned the whole mess of it.

‘Albion, it’s very simple. I was born, they refused to adopt me out because it would impact poorly on their family reputation. They placed the aithwick when I was three. I was raised to be a soldier in the hopes that I would be killed honourably in battle, but still _killed._ It was just Lludd’s bad luck that I didn’t happen to die, and perhaps his habit of not letting himself hire anything other than competent tutors when I was young. I hadn’t intended to become anything other than respected out in the field. Unfortunately that drew the notice of the Oak King. Simultaneously, Crielle wished me to stay in the field away from Court life, so she talked me up as a soldier constantly. The situation became out of her control when a King was needed who could deal with military strategy and oppositional forces. I was voted in without her consent, she was the only one who voted against me.

‘I didn’t plan it, I didn’t want it, and I have been looking for a way out of it ever since. I expect execution. Crielle revealed my alignment because she has had enough of me. She believes I killed her nephew, Efnisien. It drove her...away from her centre. Otherwise she would have taken it to her grave. The plan – my plan – was always to get away from this Kingship as soon as I possibly could. I didn’t _need_ it to defeat Augus or the Nightmare King.’

‘All true,’ the Reader said. ‘He’s in love with the Each Uisge.’

Gwyn stared at him, affronted.

‘He didn’t really want you guys to know that,’ the Reader added, staring at Gwyn with a blank, almost bored look on his face. He didn’t seem curious anymore, but it felt like a front. He wondered if, even now, the Reader was sending his energy through Gwyn, carding through his emotions, trying to decipher the nuances. ‘Should I continue?’

_No._

‘If there’s more, by all means,’ Alysia said, looking at Gwyn as though he was an unpleasant puzzle. He realised that she’d wanted him to be some evil mastermind. She was disappointed. But he didn’t want the Reader to keep talking, not in that clinical manner. At least when Mafydd had Read him, it had come from a place of empathy and caring.

‘He’s afraid of Crielle,’ the Reader said, ‘and his family. I can’t tell exactly what they’ve done to him, but he relaxed when Alysia clocked him, and I don’t think that’s a coincidence. He released the Each Uisge because of love, and he knows it was stupid. Honestly, this is a waste of our time. It would have been far more interesting if he’d engineered the whole thing, but he really didn’t. He doesn’t like Readers because of childhood trauma. He really does expect execution, but he doesn’t want it as much as he thinks he does. He’s upset to have done to this to you, Your Majesty. He would really like some food.’

Gwyn had gooseflesh all over his body, horrified at how much the Reader had seen into him, and so _quickly._ He didn’t know if it was because he was underfae, or because the aithwick was gone, but he’d never been so exposed by another fae. He’d been trained to avoid this!

‘It’s because you’re underfae,’ the Reader said, looking at him.

Gwyn blanched. It wasn’t empathy, it was _mind-reading._ But no, it wasn’t. It was only that Readers worked on such a finely tuned level of empathy, they could attach an emotion to something very like a thought.

‘What is your light, truly?’ Alysia said. ‘We’ve seen the first estate. Try not to prevaricate.’

He was weary, he closed his eyes to all of them, tensing for another blow. It never came. He wanted to retreat to blankness, but perhaps there was no point.

‘I don’t know what it is,’ Gwyn said. ‘It destroys things. Augus thought I fed off death. I don’t know. I don’t know anything about it.’

‘All true. He’s kept it suppressed. He was made to.’

‘How were you made to?’ Albion said, and Gwyn wondered at what Alysia’s execution methods would be. She was merfolk. What did they prefer?

‘Torture,’ the Reader said.

In that instant, Gwyn would have preferred to be the mastermind they all expected him to be. That would be better. That he could have planned everything, come from a family that supported his rise to the throne, embezzled Seelie secrets out of the Court on purpose and been a fae with direction and drive in the way that they expected. Being stripped down like this, he felt cowardly and pathetic, and now they all knew it too.

‘He didn’t want us to know that,’ the Reader added, something muted in his voice.

‘What was the flash of magic we felt?’ Albion said. ‘Coming from your palace?’

‘Old Lore,’ Gwyn said. ‘A Soulbond between Ash and Augus, to prevent...to reduce the number of assassination attempts on his life.’

‘You would upset the balance of the Seelie and Unseelie for a Soulbond?’ Albion said, sounding disgusted.

‘He’d do it again, too,’ the Reader said, cheerful.

‘Both of you, out,’ Albion snapped. ‘I want some time alone with the former King.’

Gwyn kept his eyes closed as they exited. He listened to their footsteps. All in all, it had been the least painful interrogation he’d ever experienced. It was, aside from invasive, almost civil. He pushed himself upright. He’d been slumped against the wall. But his rib was pounding at him, and he paused, canting his weight until he didn’t feel it ache quite so much.

‘Disappointing, wouldn’t you say?’ Gwyn said, looking up at Albion.

Albion stared down at him, mouth pushed together, eyes blazing. The whole cell smelled of salt and waves. He was angry. Gwyn had done something wrong. But then Albion was a warrior, he’d likely expected a lot more cunning, a lot less cowardice.

‘Your mother is under house arrest,’ Albion said, and Gwyn stared at him, couldn’t talk for several seconds.

‘I apologise, what did you say?’

‘She’s under house arrest. She’s broken Seelie law too. She lied to all of us, and _not_ because she was frightened of you. I suspected something was off when she started ingratiating herself to me. She’ll not be executed or imprisoned. The Seelie Court needs some stability. But she’ll never get a chance to hold as much power in my Court as she did in yours. I have imported many of the merfolk who have occupied key positions into this Kingdom. She holds no sway over them.’

‘That’s something,’ Gwyn said.

‘Yes, it is,’ Albion replied. ‘You _lied_ to us.’

‘And I’ll be executed for it,’ Gwyn said, feeling almost calm.

It was all very well for Augus to talk about the centre of surrender like it could be a good, healthy thing. But Gwyn wasn’t like Augus. He’d never been able to turn centres into their healthiest manifestations. His first centre of loyalty made him slavish to his father, to the point of killing the man he loved. His centre of triumph made him brutalise people, destroy their minds, laugh at their suffering. His centre of wildness, he’d never had it long enough to know. And then justice, well, he’d ended up pursuing his own personal sense of justice instead of Seelie justice, and refused to take prisoners of war.

Augus could do whatever he wanted with his centres, Gwyn felt like he corrupted his own.

He thought Albion would say something else, leave with some parting words, but instead Albion just stalked out and left him alone. Gwyn couldn’t move for several hours afterwards. He felt like he’d been through a much more taxing encounter. Really, they’d just all had a little chat. The single punch didn’t count for much.

He sighed, closed his eyes. He hoped the execution would be quick. Perhaps if his mother was under house arrest, she wouldn’t be there to witness it.

_Things are looking up._

He laughed at himself. At his new centre. At everything. He pushed away thoughts of Augus, kept them far, far away. He only ever felt trapped or upset, when he thought of Augus.

*

The light plucked at him.

It told him to run.

He pushed it away. He couldn’t teleport anymore.

But the light was incessant. It strummed him like he was an instrument, made him vibrate in the way that he’d used to as a child, before he would teleport anywhere, back when it used to take time and he had to really concentrate to make it happen. It shimmered through his skin. Only like this did his light ever feel tolerable. When it asked him to disappear.

But he couldn’t teleport.

Still the light wouldn’t leave him alone. It began to feel like an impending cramp throughout his whole body. He stood up restless, started to pace despite the pain in his rib. Beneath his skin it crept, making it feel like it shone through his pores. Others had told him he could seem to glow from a distance. He’d never seen it himself. Wondered if it was a trick of some kind. When he looked at his skin, it appeared normal.

The light wouldn’t go away.

It got stronger and stronger until finally he was breathing harshly, a sound of desperation pouring from his lips. He would just _try._ Just flex it. Perhaps it was like a muscle. It just needed stretching.

He didn’t just _attempt_ to teleport, he dissolved into light. He couldn’t _leave,_ but he re-appeared at the other side of the cell, staring at his own shaking hands.

He’d teleported.

He knew what it meant.

Augus was right.

The books were right.

_Classless. You’re classless. You’re Unseelie and classless and underfae like the Nain Rouge when she was removed from Augus’ Court. You’re classless fae._

He stared down the empty corridor, breath rasping from his lungs, his whole body shaking. He didn’t know in what ways he was classless. It was different for every classless fae. It meant he had access to more of his power than he’d thought. It meant that he could still live a long time, if he wasn’t executed. It meant...

Gwyn swallowed thickly.

It meant nothing.

He was going to be killed. It meant nothing at all.

*

He didn’t know how much time had passed when Albion returned. This time he’d been asleep on the floor, curled up, was nudged awake with a sharply pointed boot. He groggily pushed himself up, eyes trailing up a fine, sharply cut, angular, dark blue suit. He frowned in confusion when he saw a recurve bow, an arrow. He pushed himself upright.

‘Stand,’ Albion ordered, and Gwyn did. His rib was doing a little better, these days. The bone wasn’t growing back, but perhaps it was healing. The knife wound over it had knitted into a scar. He ran his hand over it sometimes.

Fingers dug into his shoulder and he choked on the sensation of salt water filling his lungs. He thought, then, this might be it. He was becoming water, drowning, it burned at his flesh.

Daylight.

It was so bright he ducked his head and squeezed his eyes shut, grunting at it, even as the salt water seemed to disappear from his lungs. He kept his hand pressed to his face, fingers splayed over his eyes to half shelter them as he looked up at Albion in shock. They were in the neutral forest near the Seelie Court. He could see it in his peripheral vision. He’d mapped this land once for his own personal satisfaction. It hadn’t needed to be done. This whole region was well-mapped by many fae cartographers already.

‘So it’s not to be a public execution,’ Gwyn said, faintly confused and hiding it behind a cold mask. ‘Make it quick, then, Albion.’

‘You deserve one chance,’ Albion said, crisply. ‘One. For what you did for the Court. Regardless of your alignment, you did defeat the Nightmare King. You did defeat Augus, at least for a time. You did what you were asked to do, and you did it diligently and faster than anyone expected.’

Gwyn squinted in disbelief at what he was hearing.

‘I am honourable,’ Albion continued. ‘Unlike you. I don’t expect you’ll understand. Or, perhaps, three thousand years with us and you might.’

Gwyn’s eyes were watering from the light, but he forced his hand away and looked around. He felt dazed. This wasn’t...this didn’t make any sense.

It _didn’t._

‘One chance,’ Gwyn said, voice rusty. Where would he go? He had no territory, as underfae. He had nothing to his name. And everyone would know now that he was Unseelie. He wasn’t...he wasn’t safe. ‘I want my sword. My armour. They are _mine._ I climbed the mountain for them. I traded my blood with the Glasera.’

‘They are Seelie artefacts and they do not belong to you.’

Gwyn stared at him.

‘They are rightfully mine. They’re not Seelie. They weren’t made with Seelie funds, nor-’

‘Don’t,’ Albion clipped off. ‘You funded the acquisition of that metal with your winnings from centuries of battle. _Seelie_ funds.’

Gwyn shook his head. Albion didn’t understand. That armour, that sword, it was a part of him. He’d given a lot of himself away for it. It wasn’t even the money that mattered. It was...that armour and sword were who he was. People looked at him and they expected or imagined the armour. They expected the sword. Towards the end of his reign as General, there were entire armies that had lain down their arms just _seeing_ that armour and-

‘Ah,’ Gwyn said, weakly. ‘It is not that they’re Seelie artefacts at all, is it?’

‘People see you in that armour, holding that sword, and they expect a strong, Seelie soldier. You are not Seelie, and the brand, the reputation that you’ve made for yourself – in part, with that armour –is a lie. You’ll never get your hand on that armour or that sword again, and if the Glasera dwarves have anything to say about it, they’re welcome to take it up with me directly.’

‘I will be murdered,’ Gwyn said. ‘Crielle’s men, or yours.’

‘It’s better than being publically executed in a week,’ Albion said, voice crisp.

‘Are they waiting?’ Gwyn said, looking around. He couldn’t scan the environment properly, his senses felt stifled. ‘Are they waiting even now? I get the bow and the arrow, and then I’m killed quietly in order to destroy the reputation of Gwyn ap Nudd once and for all? The once-Seelie warrior who was slain as underfae, left to rot in the woods?’

Albion said nothing, and Gwyn nodded, pensive. He thought of not even taking the bow and the arrow, for a moment, and just letting it happen. But being out here in the forest, older instincts were waking up. The instinct to hunt, to find food, to make a fire, to run, to...teleport.

Would it work?

‘You don’t want to interrogate me more?’ Gwyn said, becoming aware of at least two soldiers or hunters in the undergrowth. He flicked his eyes past them twice and realised that Albion would leave and he would be killed. Adrenaline started dumping through his body. Everything became sharper again. Even the bitter, starving taste in his mouth became sharper. ‘Come, Albion.’

‘The Unseelie Court is a shambles, and has no power. They have no _military,’_ Albion said, smiling as though he couldn’t quite believe it. ‘There is so much unrest amongst the people of their own Kingdom that I largely suspect it doesn’t matter what secrets you’ve been passing onto them, you’ve not done a very good job. My Reader was right. And I find myself disgusted by you. Lying to us for all that time, as you did. Crielle too.’

Gwyn became aware of another two soldiers and one in a tree, an arrow pointing at his heart.

‘This is overkill,’ Gwyn said, scratching at the back of his dirty, oily hair. ‘I’m underfae. Trip me up. Push me off a cliff. This isn’t a chance.’

‘You’re wily,’ Albion said. ‘If I truly wanted you to have _no_ chance, you’d be dead already.’

‘Right,’ Gwyn said. ‘Kind of you.’

He grimaced. He thought he was done. He thought he was ready to die. But the light was whispering to him to _run,_ it shimmered through him. It made him feel powerful. Was he truly classless? Perhaps he was about to find out. He wasn’t done yet. He wasn’t likely to see Albion again. Even if he wasn’t killed now, he would be killed. His body was weak and fragile, and the classlessness didn’t seem to extend to his healing times.

‘I have a right to face this in my armour, with my sword,’ Gwyn said. ‘It _is_ mine.’

‘You insulted me. And the Court. All of us. And when you are dead, we will put that armour and sword on display as a reminder. A reminder of how treacherous the Unseelie are, and a reminder to ourselves not to become complacent as we clearly did. And then, as well, a reminder that you are dead, and gone, and we evicted you from this Court.’

‘How educational of you,’ Gwyn muttered. ‘I never intended any insult.’

‘And yet here we are,’ Albion said, his voice cold.

Albion handed him the bow, the single arrow. Gwyn took them. He drew it experimentally, pointing the arrow away from Albion and the other soldiers, aware that he could be killed at any moment. He drew on the string and winced, his rib throbbed with sudden pain. But it seemed to be holding, the wound didn’t open. He would keep the bow and arrow for hunting. He could bring down some small prey, but he’d have to cook it, he thought. He didn’t know if his gut could handle raw meat anymore. As Court he couldn’t get food poisoning. He wouldn’t get parasites. He was...not Court anymore.

He took the arrow away from the bow and looked at Albion, a clamour of feelings inside of him, all too muddy to decipher.

‘We fought side by side together,’ Gwyn said. Albion’s thin eyebrows drew together. He didn’t like to be reminded, and so Gwyn reminded him. ‘You and I, we’ve defeated foes, opponents, have held counsel, I’ve always respected you.’

‘Not enough to tell me the truth,’ Albion said.

‘Was there ever a time I could have told you, where you would have reacted without rage and disdain?’ Gwyn said. ‘Come, Albion.’

Albion shook his head.

‘You are a stain upon this Court. You have damaged our reputation now that the fae know we had an _Unseelie_ sitting at the highest possible rank. There are some that want you tortured for the rest of your remaining life. I had an appeal from one fae to put you up to Court status so you would _survive_ it.’

Gwyn knew they would just keep going around like this if they kept talking. The light whispered to him. It twisted inside of him, wrapped around his spine carefully, coaxing. It teased at the base of his skull. He could go _anywhere._ He had a cabin...he had many, and they were likely not his anymore, but that might be a good place to start. He would have to keep moving. Crielle’s soldiers, could they track him? He wasn’t certain. It was difficult – but possible – to track a fae through their teleportation. He’d not felt any spells settle over him, but he’d been unconscious a lot. Sleeping. Dozing. Unwell.

‘Don’t ever trust her,’ Gwyn said. ‘Crielle.’

‘I gathered that for myself,’ Albion said.

‘Then this is farewell,’ Gwyn said, raising the bow and tipping it to his forehead. ‘You’ll rule far better than I ever did. But I suspect that’s still an insult, coming from someone like me.’

And with that, he dissolved into light. He was around just long enough to hear Albion shouting in outrage, to feel an arrow pass _through_ him because he was particles of light disappearing into the ether.

*

He landed by the cabin and looked around, furtive. But when he opened the cabin door, a family of hedgehog fae stared at him and he was amazed at how quickly he’d lost his land.

‘That looks like the King,’ one said.

‘Not the King no more. The traitor,’ said an old, gnarled hedgehog fae, his prickles bent and broken.

‘Traitor huh? And underfae to boot. Ho, you, there’s a price on your head. I think. Someone would give us money for him, surely!’

Gwyn backed away, closed the door behind him, held it shut tight with both hands while he thought of where to go next. He had to make a decision _before_ he left. Where would he go? He couldn’t go to the Unseelie Court. Not Augus. He remembered Ash’s note, but more than that...he just felt it would be wrong. He couldn’t go to them for help. He’d destroyed so many of their people. The Reader was right.

He didn’t feel like he was Seelie or Unseelie.

The door was shaking beneath his hands as they struggled to open it. He could hear their shouts, and he wasn’t strong enough to hold it shut. He made a split second decision, horror at his own thoughts drifting through him, and disappeared.

*

Char. Blackened ground. A multi-storeyed home – an _estate –_ that looked like it had been partially eaten by a giant. Gwyn looked around briefly and then sank to his knees, tired. Teleporting was exhausting now. He could do it, but not like before. He was burning through his energy, and he was so hungry. He couldn’t eat anything here, nothing was alive. He rubbed a hand over his face.

The wards were probably no longer active, if Albion, Alysia and who knew who else had seen it, he wasn’t safe here either. But safer. They wouldn’t expect him to come here, would they? But he couldn’t look at it without Augus here, and he pressed a hand over his eyes, shaking. He didn’t know what to do.

He’d mapped so much of the fae world and yet there was so much of it he couldn’t access now. He was the lowest class. He had no _right_ to land. And even if he found some that he could live off, if any fae of higher status challenged him, he had to cede it or fight for his life. He had no redress or recourse. It could simply be taken from him. And that was not counting the fact that he was recognisable and a traitor to the Seelie, an enemy to the Unseelie. His hair was recognisable, his eyes, his stature, his musculature, his pale skin. All of it.

If fae didn’t know he was the demoted fraudulent King, they would soon enough.

He turned around, looking up at the sky instead of the land around him.

He could stay here, couldn’t he? He could manage it? It was only a few bad memories, they weren’t going to kill him. Perhaps just for a few days while he reoriented to this new life. For he would be underfae now until he was murdered.

Whatever his centre was doing, it wasn’t stable. He’d thought he was _done._ He had almost completely accepted it. And now he refused to give into them, the Seelie Court, to his mother, to Albion and his soldiers and their idea of how his life was supposed to go. It had always been about how they’d wanted his life to go. Three thousand years of it.

The truth was, he’d never wanted to be a soldier. He wanted to be a scholar, but his father had said no. Hadn’t even _said_ it, had beaten him at the very suggestion.

And when he’d finally taken to the idea of being a soldier, he hadn’t wanted his primary weapon to be the longsword, but the longbow. His father told him that he was destined for the frontlines and that the longbow wasn’t suitable.

_More likely to die on the frontlines._

He risked looking at the land around him, but the damage his light had done was not something he could handle without Augus standing next to him. And he winced, shuddered, felt an old guilt come creeping through him.

_You were born to die, and you know that you were._

But Augus’ voice entered his head alongside an old refrain, reminded him that he had the survival instincts of a cockroach.

He remembered Augus laughing and saying, ‘You’re not dead yet!’

Gwyn took a deep breath, another, tried drawing the arrow again just to test the way it felt in his muscles. It hurt his rib, but he could manage it. He rubbed vaguely at his head to try and ease away the headache that had returned. They were almost constant, these days, and he didn’t know what was causing them. He knew almost nothing about health, how to look after himself. It could be starvation. He could starve to death now. He could before, too, only it would have taken thousands of years.

There was no food to eat here, no animals that had colonised this land, no plants that were growing. He pushed himself up to his feet and thought about what he could do.

He wouldn’t go to the Unseelie Court. He doubted any sort of welcome would be waiting for him. He’d treated Augus terribly, and he wasn’t sure how much his friendship with Gulvi counted for. Not enough to risk going back. He was too vulnerable. He doubted there was anything like asylum for him.

He couldn’t stay at the estate. Crielle being on house arrest meant he also couldn’t go back to An-Fnwy and pick up some clothing and some food. No doubt she would have guards there waiting for him.

There were neutral territories, yes, but there was no where he could truly go in order to get the food he needed. He bit his lip and squinted into the distance, blurring out the burnt land in front of him.

He could slip into the human world and _steal_ something...like so many fae before him had.

But no, it was dishonourable. It was...

Gwyn closed his eyes and took a single step forwards, gritting his teeth as he dissolved into light once more. It hurt his whole body and he gasped through it, making sure to not let go of himself. A fae who teleported themselves too much ran the risk of simply disintegrating into their element. He didn’t want that, and he was too tired to question why.

*

His dra’ocht protected him, though he had to work harder than ever to maintain it, and he broke out in a sweat after twenty minutes. He’d teleported into a street that looked the same as so many other streets he visited in the human world, and then he made a small, choked sound as he forced himself to teleport into one of the bigger houses. He rolled his dra’ocht off his body, it wouldn’t exactly conceal him, but any humans who met him would forget him quickly.

But he was in luck, no one was home. He thought, briefly, about doing what the Nain Rouge did – living human-side – but it didn’t feel right, and he could still be found and killed. By humans as well. And he thought that would be an undignifying way to go.

_You’ll only do this once. Long enough to stop yourself from starving to death. And then you must hunt on your own._

He dug through a pantry, tearing through a thin, synthetic wrapping into the bread below. It was sweet, but he liked that. He scooped up sugar cubes from a small sugar pot and crunched them down, one after the other, the sugar turning to heat and fire inside of him. He grabbed anything that had been made with starch, and then made his way through a packet of biscuits, eating two at a time.

The more he ate, the hungrier he was.

He opened the fridge and bypassed the fruit and the vegetables – he could forage in the wild for those – looking for those things he would find hard to source on his own in the wild, without many fae contacts to help him and no money to trade for what he needed. There was a small amount of leftover meat – cattle, he thought – in a bowl, and it didn’t smell like it had spoiled. He consumed all of that, dipping each piece into a synthetic, yellow tub of what looked like butter, but smelled like plastic. He needed the fat too. It wasn’t until he put the yellow tub back in the fridge that he noticed it said, of all things, _low-fat._

_What...?_

Gwyn looked at the milk, it said the same thing. He bared his teeth at it. His body was consuming itself. He needed protein, fat, starch, anything that would stop his body from eating itself away.

He finished all the sugar cubes in the sugar pot, then followed his nose until he found something called stock cubes. Well, he knew what stock was. He nibbled into one carefully, found his mouth flooded with the taste of salt, and beneath that, a veneer of cattle and maybe herbs. He ate all of those, finally feeling the edge dissipate from his hunger. He sagged in the pantry, holding onto one of the shelves, breathing deeply. He'd never intended to do something so low in his life, never intended to again, and now that the his hunger was easing, he felt the insidious heat of shame spread through him.

_You are pilfering from these people and you have no way of paying back the debt._

He pressed his hand to his head. It ached.

‘Damn it,’ he breathed, looking around anything else he might be able to consume. After that he tried the fridge once more and ate six raw eggs, wrinkling his face at them. Bird’s eggs were fine if they were taken from the nest and warm from incubation. But artificially cold like this...they were unpalatable. Still, he couldn’t turn them down.

He had no money to offer these people. He had wealth, yes, but he didn't know if he could access it, and to teleport away and teleport back again...

_Perhaps later._

Death was waiting around the corner for him, he knew that it was. Still, he would face it fed, watered and ready.

He marked the address as he left, on the outside chance that he might have a chance to return some day and square his debt.

*

Teleporting back into the fae world was excruciating, and he immediately knew that he was spent, at least for the day. He sagged against the thick bole of a tree in a dim, dense forest. Nearby, the blue owls of Coswick hooted sad, melancholy calls, a musical round of lament. He looked around him, looked up into the canopy of blackened leaves and glimpses of a darker sky beyond it. He breathed a heavy rasp, sliding down the tree trunk, angling sideways to avoid the scar at his side. His clothing was a mess, it was what he had worn when he’d been demoted.

He needed a place to clean himself. A place to sleep.

Perhaps...here? The dense woods of Oswal-Tay were considered bad luck by many of the fae. He leaned against a real tree, but even in his line of sight, he could see one of the bone trees made by some unclassified species of fae that cobbled together trees from the bones of their victims. There were the bones of fae and humans in that tree. It reeked of loose bits of tendon, mouldering bone, a cloying scent that clung to the underside of his nostrils, pressed in around his mouth. The bone tree was finished at least, so whatever had made it was likely in a different quadrant of the forest, looking for the victims with which it could construct a new one.

Pushing himself back up the tree trunk, he clutched the bow and arrow in one hand, kept his dominant hand free. He still knew how to wrestle, he still knew hand to hand combat. He was not without skills in any landscape.

He passed the bone tree, ignoring the small dolls of bone dangling from ropey plaits of dried tendon, wandered in the direction of the blue owls and their calls. He kept his steps as light as possible, given his tiredness. He felt like he was being watched, raised his bow and arrow. He stood out. In the dimness, his pale hair was bright, his skin didn’t camouflage well. He bit at his top lip, feeling like prey.

If something or someone came at him now, he wouldn’t be able to teleport away. He was too weak, he needed to recharge.

So it was unfortunate when, twenty minutes later, he saw glowing eyes appear in the black shadows of a nearby copse of trees. They hovered at his own height. Fae then. The misshapen thing lurched from the shadows, a blue creature that moved towards him slowly, limbs with too many joints twisted in the wrong direction, making its way jerkily towards him. The eyes blinked, almost placid. But the fae had sharp, wicked teeth, and two claws sprung vicious from every finger.

‘I mean you no harm,’ Gwyn said, absently. And then he realised how stupid that sounded. He wasn’t a King anymore. He wasn’t even a soldier.

Both he and the creature laughed at the same time. Though the creature’s laugh was more of a hiss.

He raised the bow, drew the arrow, but couldn’t get a full draw on the string with the exhaustion from teleporting, and he realised he had no other weapon but himself, his hands and feet and mouth against teeth that were even now lengthening. Claws were reaching for him.

Behind the creature gaining on him, another pair of glowing pale eyes appeared, blinking slowly. Then another pair blinked open, glowing in the shadows.

He hadn’t sensed them, and that was when he realised what they were: Blue Annis. A strange hive-mind fae, cousin to Black Annis, able to cloak its presence from all but Court fae or higher.

So much for those tracking skills. He felt handicapped, he could stumble across _anything_ and not know it.

The creatures approached, and Gwyn looked around as calmly as he could. He needed to be sensible. He needed to know which was he was going to go, because he couldn’t stay here, and he had to-

_‘Run,’_ the creature spat, sibilant, something like victory in its wheeze of a voice. It was Unseelie. Like Augus, it would want the thrill of the chase to whet its appetite.

Gwyn nodded like he was following a direction, but it was an unconscious gesture. He turned and sprinted, trying to outpace the now fast, clawed footsteps of the many Blue Annis right behind him. He had no idea how many fae he was disturbing as he ran, how many creatures, though animals flushed out before him and he could no longer hear the owls.

Instead, uneven, cloying breathing behind him, close on his heels. He gripped the bow and arrow with a sweaty hand and hoped they were the sorts of creatures that couldn’t go beyond the bounds of their forest, and then hoped that the bounds of the forest weren’t too far away.

He disengaged from the part of his mind that sang physical pain and exhaustion to him as best as he could. He focused only on getting away – surviving the next minute, and the one after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, 'Alone:'
> 
> ‘You hate him,’ Augus said. ‘You hate him and I understand why. But my feelings for him are not a trick nor a trap and I am not telling you to believe me, but don’t you dare disrespect me. I _raised_ you. I have told you that I care for him, and I will not tolerate you actively wishing death upon my lover. I am going to _find_ him, and you cannot stop me. I don’t care if you’re _King.’_


	39. Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New tags: None (but BAMF Augus should be one). 
> 
> Okay some notes!
> 
> \- A sequel to _Game Theory_ looks likely (as in it's happening, brace yourselves), at this stage. I have a title and a loose plot (or should I say many). I feel like...apologising? Because there's also an original fiction trilogy coming that's set in the same universe? Uhm.
> 
> \- The Shadows and Light series, as well as _Game Theory_ has its own [TV Tropes](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Fanfic/ShadowsAndLight) page thanks to Dracorex! Feel free to contribute. 
> 
> \- _Game Theory_ is acquiring some fanfiction. Some of the works listed can be found at the bottom of the page, or alternatively click on a character tag like [Augus](http://archiveofourown.org/tags/Augus%20Each%20Uisge%20-%20Character). This is awesome. We also have a [podfic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1152404/chapters/2336676), which is progressing amazingly.
> 
> \- As always, the [Game Theory fanart](http://not-poignant.tumblr.com/tagged/game%20theory%20fanart) tag on my Tumblr is filled with amazing work from incredible, hardworking people.
> 
> *
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoy some BAMF Augus. :D And to all the commenters, kudosers, bookmarkers, subscribers, readers, lurkers, I love you all. :)

It was amusing to Augus that he could pass three thousand years of his life and still be accumulating new and different experiences. Even though fae matured slowly, he had thought – perhaps arrogantly – that he would have experienced most things, and that everything after about a thousand years would have only been nuanced takes on what he had known in the past. It frightened him that he still had the capacity to feel so much fear, so much desperation. He knew what it was to fear starving to death, multiple times every winter, for years on end. He knew what it was to be terrified for Ash’s life and to get frostbite in his fingers with his need to find Ash enough food. He knew the feel of his damp mane freezing to frost and icicles in the frigid weather, climbing trees he was poorly suited to, telling Ash to stay underwater away from the wind-chill.

He knew, even, what it was to have stolen from the nearby An-Fnwy estate on pain of death. Knew the horror of being discovered by a young teenaged fae with two hunting hounds that had scented both he and Ash, for his brother had been with him that day, freezing and starving to death.

The young, blond, curly haired boy had sighted them as Augus, panicking, dug his claws into his brother’s shoulder and Ash was too scared to bleat in pain. And that curly hair had been mostly hidden under a fur-lined cap, pale blue eyes had skated over them both, a face stern and cold despite the boyish curve to his cheeks. Augus knew that he would die fighting to save his brother.

The young fae had hesitated, then called his barking hounds back to him. They were obedient, turning immediately, even though it was clear from their tone they wanted to make a breakfast out of the waterhorses. Then the boy made a passing comment about how it was a good thing that no one had pilfered from the winter orange grove down by the frozen river, as it was hidden so well. He’d claimed that those oranges were wonderful in the dead of the season. He’d turned resolutely, called his hounds to follow him, and Ash had muttered with chattering teeth that the boy was an _idiot._

Augus had remembered it all only recently. A sudden flash of awareness that had made his eyes fly open and a gasp steal its way out of his chest.

That boy was still an idiot, but on that day he’d saved Augus’ life, Ash’s life, and Augus knew he could never quite know how much he owed him. They’d gorged themselves on the winter oranges and then stolen as many as they could carry back to their lake. Augus had needed to rub the feeling back into Ash’s toes and fingers, because wind chill threatened them in a way that deep river currents never did. But they’d lived. Another winter and they’d survived.

_And now that blonde idiot is still giving you all these new opportunities to feel things that you’re not particularly interested in feeling. How generous of him._

The sick, churning nausea that lurched at the bottom of his gut as he, Gulvi and Ash walked towards the neutral ground to meet Albion was something that he could have done without.

He was dressed finely. He wore his signature green shirt, buttoned up the middle, black pants, calf-high boots with stern buckles and a pin at his collar of a waterhorse head, because he was proud of his underfae, freshwater heritage, even if saltwater fae had him at a constant disadvantage. A rapier was strapped to a belt at his side and he wore black gloves with little notches cut into the end where his claws emerged.

Gulvi wore the sort of clothing she always did – a black tank top that allowed for her wings, her curved daggers, white shorts, red boots with flat soles. She wore the same crown that Ash wore, silvery and fine. Though where it highlighted Ash’s unsuitability to the role, Augus had to grudgingly admit that it suited the sharp edges of her face, her pointed chin, her aquiline nose.

The neutral ground was on moorland, open and high in altitude, where they could be seen by anyone. Augus hated it.

He refused to look up at the huge open sky above them. When he’d been younger, he’d been scared of the giant, unending bowl that was the sky. It had made him feel as though he were falling off the earth. Even having dry air around him felt unnatural and strange. And though he had mostly mastered that phobia now, understood that it was connected to his species and that it wasn’t something he had to pay any heed, having that giant sky opening like a vacuum around him didn’t do anything to put his nerves at ease.

He was under strict orders to behave himself.

Augus’ fingers strayed briefly to the Soulbond mark at his chest.

If he genuinely believed Gwyn’s life was in danger, and he _did,_ then he had carte blanche to do whatever he wanted. He would behave so long as they gave him cause to.

Gulvi had said he was coming as their prisoner, but he wasn’t shackled or restrained in any tangible sense. He walked behind the both of them, he kept a hand on the hilt of his rapier. The open land made him uneasy, but he had his invisibility. Every time Ash looked around furtively and then looked over his shoulder at Augus, he became newly aware of just how much Ash’s life was tied to his now.

‘Late,’ Gulvi spat as they arrived at a plain of dark earth. ‘Of course. More insult.’

‘They could just be held up,’ Ash said.

Augus and Gulvi both rolled their eyes at the same time, caught the expression on each other’s faces. There was an awkward moment. They didn’t get along, but every now and then Ash would say or do something, and they’d catch each other with the same exasperated, affectionate look on each other’s faces. It was jarring. Gulvi was especially cruel after those moments, Augus the same. Ash was oblivious.

‘Held up on the matter of _insulting_ us,’ Augus amended.

Another shared look between he and Gulvi, and Augus could feel a pre-emptive ache in his gut. She burned to bury another knife in him, he could tell.

Augus didn’t know a great deal about the mercurial King Albion, though he had done his research when he’d been King. Whoever heard of an ocean King having a centre like stability? He knew that Gwyn and Albion had fought together side by side, he knew that Albion managed tens of thousands of sea fae beneath the surface of the sea. He knew that Albion was not likely to be merciful. He knew that there was very little chance they’d get Gwyn back at all, let alone alive.

It would not be the first time a Seelie monarch had executed someone to preserve the reputation of the Seelie.

He tried not to think of Gwyn down in a cell, because after his initial attitude of: _See how you like it,_ he realised that Gwyn was ill-suited to confined spaces. At least Augus felt at home with four walls around him, damp and humid air. He could even pretend that he was underwater sometimes, hibernating. Gwyn had been raised with open skies and the outdoors, preferred wandering in the forests and ranging abroad. Every time Augus tried to imagine what it must be like for him down underground, injured and underfae, he quickly had to withdraw his thoughts back to the present, touch eyes upon his brother’s form, find something grounding.

Gulvi and Ash talked quietly about Albion and what he was likely to do as Augus waited nearby, pacing, watching the horizon, looking for attacks that never came. Fae were not supposed to attack each other on neutral ground. But how often were those laws broken? Often enough. He couldn’t trust fae etiquette now. Not in a world where Kings were being demoted by their people and Old Lore was being thrown about.

Another nervous ten minutes passed, further insult. The Seelie were an alignment of fae that prided themselves on punctuality.

When Albion appeared, Augus’ face went blank to see that gold-silvery crown upon his head, the wreath of leaves and twigs. Behind him came two sea fae, Augus could smell the reek of salt on both of them.

One – a selkie – who wore her seal skin proudly around her own neck, draped down behind her back like a short cape. She was naked but for a single pair of weathered jeans that frayed heavily at the hems, and the kind of sandals that one might find abandoned at the beach, waves washing over them until all the shine on the leather had disappeared. To Albion’s right walked one of the merfolk. He could tell by the pale green streaks in her fins that she was likely merfolk royalty. Her face was sharpness, her pale green eyes canny, her pale green hair fashioned in the short, jagged cuts preferred by merfolk overall.

This would only be the beginning of his Inner Court. The ones he trusted most.

His eyes were already stinging from the mist of salt water they seemed to carry around them. When he took a deep breath, he felt it as an ache in his lungs. He wondered how Gulvi was dealing with it. Ash had always found it easier to take. Centuries of dousing his body in pollutants like alcohol and excessively salted human food had given him a high tolerance. Augus’ need to live a purer life was a disadvantage.

Introductions established them both as Oura Selich, Queen of the Selkies, and Alysia mer Malakhy, Queen in Waiting to the merfolk. But that left their specific roles in the new Seelie Court deliberately unclear. Typically a King or Queen would hire an Advisor, an Executioner, assign the roles of Magistrates, Treasurer, more besides. Gwyn had always had a paucity of an Inner Court, managing the treasury and many other roles of the Court himself. But Albion would have an official Court, a large one, and he knew how to run one. So who had he brought with him?

Augus’ eyes narrowed. All eyes had drifted to him, and he returned their gazes coldly. They could try to imprison him again, but he was ready. He was Inner Court, and there was no frost spirit here to freeze him to the ground, and his brother had oathed under Soulbond to never possess him again.

They could _try._

His whole body practically thrummed with a desperation to know how Gwyn was, if he was still alive. And so when Gulvi introduced herself as Queen to the new King and followed the formalities that were meant to be observed, he bristled with anger and barely held back impatience. He ignored the concerned look that Ash gave him in his peripheral vision. He had to know. He felt turbulent within, unsteady, ripples and waves skating the insides of his veins.

Ten minutes passed and they hadn’t even mentioned Gwyn.

‘Gwyn ap Nudd,’ Augus said, and all eyes turned to him. ‘Where is-’

‘-Don’t prevaricate,’ Albion said abruptly. ‘We know he’s come to the Unseelie Court for asylum. Why else would he release you so close to his own discovery? Why else would he install a King and a Queen into the Unseelie Court that he could go to at a moment’s notice? We’re all perfectly aware that Gwyn and Gulvi have been colleagues for some time.’

_We know he’s come to the Unseelie Court for asylum…_

One quick look at the stillness on Gulvi’s face and the shock on Ash’s confirmed that wasn’t true.

He didn’t understand what had happened.

‘He is in a cell in the Seelie Court,’ Gulvi said smoothly. ‘Your messenger said so. La! Are you saying that you could not contain him?’

Albion’s face was almost still, but he was sea fae and it was easy to tell when he was discontent. Minute shifts in his face. A twitch in his cheek, another in his jaw.

A rush of panic stirred deep in Augus’ gut.

‘Are you telling me you’ve _lost_ him?’ Augus said, his voice far quieter than usual.

‘We did not _lose_ the traitor,’ Albion said. ‘We are perfectly aware of where he is.’

Gulvi looked at Ash, and Ash shrugged in perhaps the most eloquent, if clumsy way of indicating that he’d not seen any sign of Gwyn at all.

Augus watched the Seelie Court – or at least, what members Albion had brought with him – and he stepped forwards, licking once at his lips. His brain was working quickly, and he opened his mouth to question him when he felt a hand slam into his chest and came up short, Gulvi staring at him. She’d flung an arm out to stop him.

He swallowed, his eyes flickered to Albion, who was watching him. If it didn’t chafe at him so badly, he’d consider apologising to Gulvi just to see Albion’s expression. But even though his centre was no longer dominance, he couldn’t.

‘He is not with us, and if you are to be believed, he is not with you,’ Gulvi said.

‘Do not insinuate that we are liars,’ Albion said, his voice cold, unforgiving.

Augus smirked, Gulvi laughed.

‘Did you not just serve in the employ of a liar? Did he not make liars of you all?’

Augus felt a flash of raw pleasure at Gulvi’s daring. Ash may have thought that she was too harsh to run a Court, but she had the Court attitude necessary to hold her own. No wonder the Raven Prince had appreciated her company so much. For all that she was a thorn in Augus’ side – _a dagger –_ his respect for her was growing.  

A breeze picked up, gusted through. Clouds scudded in overhead. Oura turned her head to look at them, Augus followed her gaze. She intrigued him. Alysia too, but she had that knife’s edge sharpness that Gulvi had, and she was fascinating as all obvious predators were. Seelie or not, she was merfolk, and it was a more cut-throat world beneath the sea. But Oura – Queen of the selkies – he’d heard few tales of her, and they were all mysterious. One did not become the queen of the finfolk seal-shifters without knowing how to hold their own, and that was quite a vicious scar she had cutting across her torso, splitting her left breast and slicing all the way down to the bottom of her ribs at her right-hand side.

‘Dister weather’s a-blowing in,’ Oura said, her voice rough. She turned her gaze back to Augus and Ash, raising bushy eyebrows.

It was an olive branch of sorts, offering something neutral to speak on. It only incensed Augus further, and his own claws scraped against his palms. It was taking considerable willpower not to just compel information from them. It was likely Albion, with his King status, could resist him now. It wasn’t worth the risk.

 _Where is he? What happened? Where did he go? Is it a rouse? It’s not a rouse, look at Albion. That salt rolling off him is_ fear.

‘He’s underfae,’ Augus heard himself say. ‘He’s underfae and a pariah. You’re telling me that no other fae have found him? Killed him? Brought him to you for whatever reward you have on his head?’

He accidentally scraped a furrow into his own skin.

‘He was in a _cell._ I’ve experienced Seelie hospitality of that kind for half a year, they’re not easy to break out of. I never managed.’

‘Neither did he,’ Albion said stiffly.

‘That’s really helpful and all,’ Ash said, his voice turning hard. ‘How about you tell us what the fuck is going on? Before I compel it out of you?’

Augus turned and stared. That wasn’t like Ash at all, he’d always avoided compulsions. He doubted he truly wanted to know about Gwyn, but was tired of the dancing around between alignments. He’d never had any patience for it.

‘What a peaceful meeting this is turning out to be,’ Alysia said, looking down at her hand, spreading her webbed fingers as though examining the pale grey-green stretching between each digit.

Albion turned back to look at her, but it was Oura who placed a hand on his shoulder with a familiarity that Augus found intriguing. Whatever transmitted between them was enough. Albion cleared his throat and Oura dropped her hand, looking out towards the clouds again.

‘I believe he deserved one more chance,’ Albion said, gravely. ‘I removed him from the cell and gave him a bow and arrow, and the option to be executed publically, or try his luck on his own.’

‘With your soldiers everywhere, no doubt,’ Gulvi said, a cruel smile curving her lips. ‘Your Majesty, I am completely aware of how you work. It’s not the first time you’ve offered someone that form of _pardon,_ is it?’

Albion said nothing.

Augus noticed Alysia watching him and returned the gaze. It became a glare between them both.

‘Our Reader says that he loves you,’ Alysia said directly to Augus.

_Oh no. A Reader. Oh, Gwyn. Damn it, what have they done to you?_

‘He also said there was no collusion between the two of you.’

 _You can use that,_ Augus told himself quickly, feeling himself straighten and laugh.

‘Is that what he said? Your Reader? Oh, that’s _lovely._ You are, of course, aware that Gwyn ap Nudd has a self-taught resistance to both Readers and even my compulsions?’

‘Not as underfae,’ Alysia said, grinning her sharp canines at him.

‘Really?’ Augus said, raising a sceptical eyebrow. ‘Are you sure? He’s played you all, in different ways, for three _thousand_ years, I’m sure he was _very_ convincing. Did he spin a nice story about how vulnerable he’s been? About how terrible his family life is?’

Augus let his sense of victory play in his eyes, shocked that Gulvi was letting him talk. Albion was buying it. He didn’t know why, or what Gwyn had said, but his suspicions that the Reader had picked up on Gwyn’s background looked to be true. He could use that too.

If Gwyn was a pariah, let him at least be a respected one.

‘Ah,’ Augus breathed, allowing a soft laugh. ‘He played you. We may have our weak Court, but we also have an ex-King who happens to have a habit of memorising Seelie military and battle scrolls.’

Alysia’s face went still, she looked to Albion, the fins on the side of her face flaring.

‘And you lost him?’ Augus purred. ‘Albion, you’re practically a demigod, if you’re not one already. And Gwyn is nothing more than _underfae._ Honestly, I thought you were respectable, but you’re barely more than a minnow when you find yourself upon land, are you?’

Augus swallowed the itch of salt in the back of his throat as it rose sharply in the air around him. He swallowed repeatedly, then bit his tongue sharply until saliva flooded his mouth and diluted the salt. Ash started to cough, even his throat was irritated. Oura looked affronted.

‘He is the King of an _ocean,’_ Oura said, reproving.

‘My dear, I was the King of the entire Unseelie Kingdom. I think you’ll find that Kingship goes cheap these days. Besides, King Albion, you can hire as many of your seawater minions as you like, I think you’ll find the land-fae won’t play so nice knowing their Court is being run by the very fae that have held them in disdain for millennia. That was…oh, that _was_ you, wasn’t it? Isn’t there a quote somewhere? How does it go? Gulvi, do you remember?’

That was a risk, but Gulvi seemed willing enough to play along.

‘La! Yes! I do remember. I believe you once said that land-fae were the fat, farm-bred versions of fae, too sedentary and leisure-focused to be anything more than long-living mulch for the land that sustains us. Mm, it caused quite an outcry when Gwyn made you Inner Court in the first place, did it not? Is your Seelie Court playing nice now that Crielle is under house arrest and the palace carries a stench of salt?’

Augus felt his teeth grow sharper in his jaw.

This wasn’t getting him closer to knowing what had happened to Gwyn, as satisfying as it was to vent in this manner.

_Where is he?_

His mind showed him images of Gwyn dead, murdered, and he tried to drown them. Reminded himself of what Gwyn had survived so far.

_But always as Court or higher, never as underfae. You know how he abuses his body. He would have not the first idea of how to live in a sustainable manner. He could kill himself by accident before anyone else had a chance to do it on behalf of the Seelie Kingdom._

Albion appeared to grow in front of him, even though he stayed the same intimidating narrow height. Augus thought if Albion could summon waves to this high moorland, he would. As it was, a high wind soughed past. Sea fae as strong as Albion influenced the weather in many places. But Gulvi was from the winged family. She spread her wings and the wind died down to a fresh, salt-free breeze. Albion didn’t react. In that, Augus was reminded of Gwyn and his ability to mask his own reactions behind a still, stern expression.

‘Your word-games have always been precise,’ Albion said, finally, to Augus. ‘And in that, I think, you can be quite clever. But look at you. Leashed by the Unseelie Court and practically a pony to be ridden by the masses. I wasn’t there, at your Display, but I heard you made a very cowed creature, that you bowed your heard prettily before the Court. I’m surprised you haven’t started hacking yourself out for pony rides.’

Augus’ eyes widened, and Ash blew out an offended curse beneath his breath.

‘Gwyn’s classless,’ Albion said to Gulvi, changing the subject. ‘He teleported away before I could put him down like the dog that he is.’

Augus’ palms were bleeding.

So that was what had happened. He wanted to know details. Conversation. No, he needed to know where Gwyn was _now._ Surely Albion had the Seelie military out looking for him, Mages tracing his energy signature? Where would Gwyn go? He didn’t use magic, any land he owned was forfeit.

He closed his eyes briefly.

He had to find him. Someone had to find him. It was _hard_ to live as underfae, especially if you were a species predisposed to be solitary. Augus and Ash both knew that very well indeed. And Gwyn…

When he opened his eyes again, Gulvi and Albion were talking about Gwyn’s classless status, and Alysia was again watching him closely. When she saw that he was aware of his surroundings, she winked at him. Ash watched everyone quietly. For all that he came across as clueless, he observed. Augus wondered if he’d picked that up in the human-world. He didn’t look like he was missing much. When their eyes met, Ash’s expression stayed grim, and his gaze drifted to Alysia, and then back to Gulvi and Albion.

Gulvi turned her head and looked down at Augus’ hands. The scent of blood had risen in the air.

‘Your pony seems agitated,’ Alysia said sweetly. ‘Perhaps you should send him back to his stable.’

A cold current flew through Augus’ blood, making him dizzy, as though the sky was falling upon him. His hands splayed, he sent his awareness deep into the ground and found all the water, then turned his thoughts to the ground itself. Clay. Heavy in water content, high water table. It would be easy. Did they think he was domesticated? Truly?

‘Do you think I am tame?’ Augus said, the ground beginning to shake.

Gulvi’s wings flared, she looked at Augus in confusion.

None of them knew how powerful he was.

 _No one_ did.

‘Do you?’ Augus said again, advancing past Gulvi. ‘Is that the rumour? Shall I dispel it for you? How much control do you think they have over me, truly? The swan? My brother? When I’ve been working in league with one of the most powerful, classless _Unseelie_ fae the world has ever seen? Do you know what he can do with his light? Did you see the estate? I have.’

Now they looked surprised, and Augus spun his lies into a tapestry as wild, thick strands of waterweed began to coil forth from openings in his wrists. Not just one per hand, but multiple, because this was something he had always been able to do. Waterhorses were supposed to only be able to make a limited amount of waterweed, but Augus only needed to think of the water in the land around him, think of green and chlorophyll and the scent of ozone and there it was, pouring from him. His waterhorse-form stirred inside of him, he bared sharpened teeth.

The ground shook with his discontent. He coughed at the salt in the air, clenched his hands, winced at the pain in his palms. _There,_ moisture in the grasslands. He drew on it lightly, leaving the plants mostly unharmed. Mist rose around them. Swamps and wetlands had always been prime causes of inland fog, and this was yet another thing he could do. Another thing they didn’t know about.

Mist became a thickening, soupy fog. Gulvi was upright and shouting at him, Ash swore in surprise. None of them knew. Augus had always wanted to keep his true powers a secret. Because he knew he might need them one day. He might need the surprise.

He didn’t think he’d use them now, uncalculated, because he was so _furious_.

They were wasting time, all of them. Gwyn was out there somewhere.

_Dead, in all likelihood._

The growl that rumbled through him echoed around them all. His voice took on its supernatural ability to throw itself from all corners, and rumbled down through his boots into the ground itself.

 _‘You call me pony?’_ Augus said, his voice turning deep and terrible. _‘Are you quite sure that is what I am? Have you forgotten? I am the Each Uisge, and I am not_ tame.’

Albion staggered backwards as the ground began to open up beneath his feet. And this, _this_ would take energy, but he liquefied the clay and the root systems beneath them, turned the land to widening wetland. Water oozed up and squelched, stuck to his boots. Gulvi cried out, a gust of wind indicating she had taken to the air to stay stable. Ash was shouting something, but Augus was too busy meeting the stormy eyes of Albion, smiling with a terrible promise.

_‘The sea always tries to take over the land. It may absorb freshwater, but we endure, and freshwater always leaves your custody and finds its way back to us. Do you want to see? Albion, King of the sea and the Seelie, do you want to see what freshwater can do? How tame it is?’_

Rain started to fall.

Ropes of waterweed twisted and coiled wildly in the air, and Alysia shrieked as one tripped her up. She was back on her feet, had sliced through it with her own weapons, but Augus advanced upon them still, walking onto the lake he’d created and shaking with the amount of power he needed to make the lakes widen, produce the waterweed, make the mist, and then trick the leylines of energy around him to make sure that he wouldn’t sink. But he was a waterhorse, freshwater his domain. He didn’t even sink to his ankles, navigating the turbulent lake easily. Water plastered his hair to his head more than usual, it felt like the caress of a lover, an attentive friend. It felt _good._

Albion was raising his hands to retaliate, salt thickening in the air, and Augus offered a winning, sharp-toothed smile.

_‘Do you remember when Gwyn ap Nudd traded Tigbalan for power? Do you want to see it?’_

He disappeared completely and masked his scent. Albion stared in horror, Gulvi shrieked his name in outrage. Augus felt the need to show them that he was a force to be reckoned with and how _dare_ they lose Gwyn, how dare they underestimate the both of them?

But he could do so much more than show them that he wasn’t a domesticated horse to be saddled and ridden. He could do _so_ much more. He could do more than protect Gwyn. He could _hurt_ them. He could-

His heart skipped a beat. Pain rocketed down his spine.

_‘Brother!’_

An agonised shout. Augus stumbled even as he had started sending out his waterweed to try and tear Albion apart. His heart ached and he clutched at it, clawed absently.

_What-?_

_‘AUGUS!’_

Augus froze.

He could protect loved ones. He could do whatever he wanted to protect loved ones. That’s what the Soulbond said.

But he couldn’t work against either Court just because he _wanted_ to.

He turned, aghast. Ash stood on the edge of a giant lake, bowed over, clutching at his own heart.

_No, no, no!_

Ash couldn’t see him. None of them could see him.

He sprinted back across the water, wheezing, maintaining his invisibility. He stood at Ash’s side, listened to his own heavy breaths. He placed a hand against his brother’s face, Ash tensed.

 _‘Brother,’_ Augus whispered. Ash’s eyes widened. He turned towards Augus, but couldn’t see him. _‘If I stop, will you be well?’_

‘It’s already…fucking better,’ Ash said, turning his head into Augus’ hand in a gesture of trust. Augus rubbed his bleeding palm over the stubble on his cheek and left smears that didn’t disappear in the light drizzle that fell around them.

The waterweed withdrew into Augus’ body and then disappeared in a sudden exhalation of mist around them. The lake stopped widening. Fog began to thin. Augus noticed a breeze and looked up at Gulvi, who was summoning it herself to increase visibility.

 _‘I will be in the Court,’_ Augus said, unable to shake that deep, primal voice. He’d searched too deep within himself, brought up too much power. And he was still determined to find Gwyn. In human-form he retained his affection for Ash, but it was a strange tension inside of him. _‘And then I will be gone. I have to find him.’_

‘No,’ Ash said on an exhale. ‘No, _Augus,_ wait, you-’

Augus shed his invisibility and sank into the lake, turning into water, swirling through the currents he’d created in his own rage.

*

He was crossing a bridge over a quiet but fast-flowing river, not more than forty paces from the lake, when Ash emerged and ran after him.

‘He’s gone, he’s escaped! You can’t find him! It’s a fucking needle in a haystack search! Just _let him die!’_

Augus froze. His chest still ached. He turned slowly, fingers opening and closing, a growl reverberating around him. He still felt the need to tear his environment apart. He was shaking with the power he’d spent, and yet he needed to spend _more._ He glared at Ash.

‘You hate him,’ Augus said. ‘You hate him and I understand why. But my feelings for him are not a trick nor a trap and I am not telling you to believe me, but don’t you dare disrespect me. I _raised_ you. I have told you that I care for him, and I will not tolerate you actively wishing death upon my lover. I am going to _find_ him, and you cannot stop me. I don’t care if you’re _King.’_

‘Disrespect?’ Ash said, looking bewildered. ‘No, not- I just…’

He ran a hand through his hair, shook water out of it vigorously. Augus’ heart clenched. Gwyn had done that when they’d escaped the Seelie Court and gone to that cabin, gone to that river. At the time the gesture had reminded him of Ash. Was he doomed to have one in his life but not the other?

 ‘You told me the Nightmare King was magnificent!’ Ash blurted, his voice breaking. ‘You destroyed your world for him! You destroyed _mine!’_

Augus closed his eyes.

‘Augus, if you go out there to look for him, some fae is going to kill you, and-’

‘-You don’t want to die.’

‘No, Jesus, I don’t want _you_ to die! I did this Soulbond for you! Not just so you could go and fucking waste it. Please, Augus, I’m fucking _begging_ you, you can’t just go out there looking for an underfae like Gwyn. They’re looking to kill him anyway, they’re definitely going to be looking to kill you too! It’ll be easy. It’ll be like a fucking bargain sale if they get both of you at the same time. Two for the price of one!’

Augus looked off into the distance as though he could see through the Unseelie Court into the greater fae world. Where would Gwyn have gone? How could Augus track him? Gwyn could _teleport._ Scent trails would be useless. And if Gwyn had successfully evaded military – _how, how would he have managed to do that? –_ then he could successfully evade anyone.

Augus would have to guess.

If Gwyn had escaped and not come to the Unseelie Court for asylum, it was likely because he believed he couldn’t.  

Gwyn who had been so sure that Augus would get free and suddenly see Gwyn for the villain that Augus had always known him to be. He would never have expected help. Not Gwyn, of all people, who couldn’t accept care or affection. Augus smoothed his clothing absently, fretfully. Gwyn would have felt too vulnerable as an underfae, going to the Unseelie Court. But it was exactly what he should have done.

‘Augus, you’re scaring me,’ Ash said. ‘And what was that back there? Fucking hell, man. What the fuck was that? Have you always been able to do those things?’

‘Yes,’ Augus said, ‘for a long time.’

‘Why is everything a secret with you? Why do you have to hold so much back from everyone? The stupid thing is, I can tell you open up to me. But not really. Augus, you can’t go out on some wild goose chase like this, looking for the guy who held you captive for so long. I don’t care if you were _mutually_ fucking each other, I don’t-’

‘Either forbid me as King and watch me commit treason against the Unseelie Court, or let me go,’ Augus said quietly. ‘Besides. You should go back. Assist Gulvi with damage control.’

‘Oh, yeah, _me_. Because that’s what I’m suited for. Fucking damage control.’

He looked miserable. He looked – Augus realised – like he was about to cry. Augus’ breathing came faster. Ash would survive crying. Gwyn might not survive being underfae.

_If he’s still alive._

‘Ash,’ Augus said. ‘I’ll come back. Yes? Alright?’

‘Yeah,’ Ash said, looking doubtful.

‘I will.’ Augus said. He had to turn around and go back to the lake if he wanted to teleport out of the Court. He took a deep breath and approached Ash, walked past him. A hand reached out and wrapped around his forearm, fingers squeezed.

‘Augus,’ Ash said, ‘what’s my centre?’

Augus looked across his shoulder into Ash’s eyes, his eyebrows furrowing. The game again, creeping in from their childhood. What did they both need more of right now? What did he need from Ash?

‘Strength.’

‘Doesn’t feel like it,’ Ash said.

‘It never does.’ Augus smiled, rested his head briefly against Ash’s shoulder. He was tired. He had to leave. He had to look. It was futile. He knew that. ‘It never does, brother.’

*

At the third lake, using invisibility and growing increasingly exhausted, he started to wonder if there was some merit to Ash wondering if he’d lost his mind again.

He knelt by the bank and closed his eyes. He was trying to pick up a scent. An energy signature. _Something._ He was Inner Court. He was powerful. But he couldn’t simply arrive in a random location and will Gwyn into existence. He let his invisibility flicker out and groaned in relief not to be holding it to him any longer. Certainly, it was easier to maintain it when he was Inner Court status instead of Capital, but it was still draining.

He placed his hands in wet, silty clay. Bowed far enough forward that the ends of his mane curled upon it. He needed to think. He needed to hold onto his mind.

After a few minutes he pushed himself upright and looked around cautiously, scenting the air. But he picked up very few other fae, certainly none nearby. He didn’t call on the invisibility again. His whole body ached. He needed to rest. He knew he needed to rest. But he couldn’t. If he could just find Gwyn _first,_ then they could both rest as much as they wanted.

When he went back to the lake, he knew where he wanted to go, but he would have a fair bit of walking ahead of him. He dove in, turned to water and bubbles, the clay that had stuck to his hands fell away and drifted to the bottom of the lake.

He emerged in frigid waters, struck out for the surface. He called his invisibility to him as he emerged and made a small groan in the water before his head broke free of it. He couldn’t mask his ripples properly and he could sense fae nearby. He could mask the ripples he made nearby, but not the ones that moved out further, which still allowed anyone to pinpoint where he was in the water. Quickly he made his way to the lake’s edge, getting out of it.

Standing on the bank, taking deep breaths, he saw Seelie dryads nearby. They wouldn’t be a problem, but he kept himself masked with invisibility anyway. It wouldn’t do for the Seelie to find out what he was doing or where he was looking. Seelie dryads were staunch pacifists, the kind of fae that would bleat to even see a branch torn from a tree, but they were good messengers, and they could whisper words to the leaves that could sing across forests in seconds. He hoped they hadn’t noticed the ripples, but the ones he could see – lissom and graceful – were tending some shrubs. One was holding a blackbird on her index finger, smiling at it.

 _Dryads._ Augus rolled his eyes before remembering that he’d had some moments like that as a waterhorse, and – flushing – quickly strode off into the forest, letting his inner compass show him the way.

After twenty minutes of walking, he had to let the invisibility roll off him, and he withdrew his rapier cautiously. Ash would have a fit if he saw him like this, visible, out in Seelie territory, far away from any lakes to use for safe teleportation. He could make a lake himself, usually, except that he’d burnt through his reserves of energy to remind Albion that he wasn’t some Shetland they could lead around by a bridle and bit.

_Temper, temper._

He kept himself focused, looked around constantly. He could sense fae throughout this forest, but they were not so nearby now, and he could tell he was moving into abandoned territory. At least then he would get respite from the invisibility.

He smelled the burnt carbon of plants, charred minerals in the soil, long before he arrived. And by the time he made it onto the old An-Fnwy estate, he’d not worn the invisibility for a full forty minutes. He was taking a risk, but he thought if he didn’t wear it, he’d find it easier to shrug on when he needed it.

The place filled him with an odd horror as it had before, followed immediately by a sense of awe and power. He’d broken the fae that had done this to the land, had him bowed and arching beneath him, crying out, gasping, _begging_ him for mercy. Augus licked his lips, tried to focus on that instead of the images his mind was throwing up at him now. Gwyn broken for very different reasons, trying to find his way as underfae, dragged down into the Seelie cells. Did they torture him?

_Of course they did. And likely not the poor, unsophisticated attempts that Gwyn inflicted on you._

He opened his mouth and flared his nostrils to get a better sense of the odours around him. Everything was so dominated by that burning scent that he almost missed it.

_Iron, copper, ozone._

He jogged quickly forwards, closer to the estate itself and the scent became more acute. A wave of relief washed over him and he stopped where it smelled strongest, taking deep lungfuls of the remnants of Gwyn’s scent. Not so long ago then, he’d been here. A few days at most, he’d still been alive.

‘Oh, you idiot, where _are_ you?’

_You should have come to us. The Unseelie look after their own. We would have given you asylum, even Ash can’t contravene those oldest of laws._

Augus raised a hand and ran it through his hair. No one was there to watch him self-soothe himself as he then started combing his fingers through over and over again. Knowing that Gwyn was alive a few days ago, wasn’t Gwyn being alive _now_. And if Gwyn was desperate enough to visit the estate, then he was truly _desperate._ There was no way he would come here unless it was – possibly – a last resort. There was no food here. No water. He doubted Gwyn would stay in the estate itself, and the scent of him was already fading, barely clinging to the land. He’d not even stayed long.

Augus walked closer to the estate, just to be sure, but the scent was already fading.

He felt something brush against his ankles and looked down to see the brief shimmer of magic where the barrier had touched him. It disappeared immediately but his blood ran cold. Perhaps someone else had expected Gwyn to come here. Perhaps…

_Damn it._

Two winged fae – Seelie this time – appeared in front of him, and Augus threw on the invisibility and dodged the stab of a rapier. He masked his own sound too, gasping hoarsely. He turned and ran back the way he’d come, realising that he’d need to run, hold onto the invisibility, make it back to the lake. He spared a breath to swear at himself, sheathed his rapier, because he would be faster with it at his hip, not in his hand.

He sprinted, called on his own waterhorse strength, but he was draining himself fast. Overhead he heard the shriek of the first bird shifter, a raven, circling as though she could see him. He was sure she couldn’t, but perhaps she knew the lay of the land, knew there was a _lake_ nearby that he needed in order to teleport. The other bird shifter didn’t seem to be following, or – perhaps – they had headed in another direction towards a river that Augus knew backed onto the estate in the other direction.

_It’s a needle in a haystack search, brother!_

Augus’ breath was rough in his throat, holding onto the invisibility made him break out into a cold sweat, his hair was actually starting to dry on the surface from how fast he was running. The boots he wore were terrible for getting through the landscape, it didn’t matter.

He’d scented him, it was better than nothing, wasn’t it?

When he made it to the lake, he groaned in relief and dove in. He turned just in time to see a spear plunging towards him, right where the ripples would have given away his position.

He twisted quickly, called a current of water to push the spear away, gasped water into his lungs as adrenaline flashed through him with all the subtlety of a blade and disappeared himself, rushing towards the Unseelie Court and the closest thing he had to safety.

*

When he returned, Gulvi was waiting for him. His rapier snapped up out of its sheath, he parried one of her knife thrusts, even as he was sodden and dripping with water. His eyes were wide and wild as he retreated from her along the Unseelie lake’s bank.

‘Now, now, Gulvi,’ Augus gasped. ‘I know I didn’t play fair out there, but-’

‘You could have _killed_ him, to say little of that _performance_ before King Albion,’ Gulvi said, her own voice rough, devoid of its usual lilting charm. Her knife flashed out again and Augus stumbled as he avoided it, then managed to get his feet back up under himself again. Augus realised that Gulvi had been scared for Ash’s life. Well, so had he. That’s why he stopped.

‘I have a bad habit,’ Augus said, trying to sound persuasive, dra’ocht rolling off him and burning up more of his energy. ‘I have a terrible habit of goading Kings. Queens. Royalty.’

‘La! Yes, maybe a knife will teach you.’

‘Six of them?’ Augus said, trying for sweetness, trying to put her off balance.

She lunged and he turned and fled, hoping the drag of her own wings would slow her down. She was fast in the air, but running was not one of her strong suits. Augus, however, was built to run – even in human-form.

He ran instinctively to the room that had once been his own, burst into Ash’s bedroom, almost tripping over his brother as he flicked through some human magazine.

‘What the hell?’ Ash said, as Augus rounded the bed and used it as a barrier, Gulvi coming in behind him, knives out. ‘Fucking _again?’_

‘This isn’t about you,’ Gulvi said, and Augus laughed.

‘Isn’t it? Is it about your sisters or Ash, Gulvi? Or can you not decide? I didn’t kill him. Look, here he is, reading one of his inane magazines.’

Gulvi beat her wings powerfully and launched across the bed, Augus was parrying thrusts and stabs from two different blades, baring his teeth at her angrily. But he wasn’t trained, and he was exhausted, and his mind was quickly devolving into a mess of desperate swear words, even as Ash yelled at them both to cut it out.

Augus’ strategy for dealing with Gulvi would have to happen and _soon,_ because he couldn’t keep on like this. He couldn’t deal with healing from another knife wound, he had to find Gw-

He choked as the knife buried into his side, the opposite side this time. His wide, shocked eyes searched out Ash, even as he slid down to the floor, making sure that his brother was still standing, that he wasn’t in any pain.

Ash watched in horror, outrage, was across the bed and falling to Augus’ side in an instant.

‘Fucking _fuck.’_ Ash glared at Gulvi, but Gulvi was still staring bloodlust and hatred at Augus. They were at an impasse. Augus coughed, tried to suppress the action and couldn’t. Pain rocketed through him, blood spilled into his mouth. She’d nicked a lung, possibly. It was a good thing that he could breathe water – even if his lungs filled with blood, he’d survive it regardless of his status. No wonder Ash looked – if pale with fear – fine.

‘Gulvi,’ Augus managed. ‘Let me tell you a story.’

He had to be quick, he had to make it good.

‘Two twin girls,’ Augus said, his voice getting hoarser as the pain started to settle in as a constant throb. He held back a sound of pain. What a day he was having. ‘How _beautiful_ they were. Imagine their blonde, curly hair, and their pretty violet eyes. And of course everyone knows that fae twins are more powerful than your average fae. And these little nine year olds showed so much promise. But it wasn’t that which made them beloved of the Unseelie, it was simply their charming natures, their sweetness.’

Gulvi went still, one wing frozen in a stretched out position, the other tucked in close to her back. She stared at him with wide eyes, her mouth open.

Augus winced at a particularly vicious sear of pain, forced himself to continue.  

‘These beautiful twins were the daughters of the leader of a criminal organisation who wanted to move that organisation into France. But there was already a very powerful French family looking after covert Unseelie matters, and he had to oust them in order to earn the respect of local players. He placed a hit out on the family. He thought it wouldn’t be so hard. They were only protected by a swan. Even with the rumours, how fierce could she be? Everyone knew that swans were such pacifists.’

Augus coughed and blood sprayed out of his mouth. She _had_ nicked a lung. The pain was all-encompassing, filtering through all of his organs. He pressed his fingers to the knife. His body would be healing around it, even now. At some point he’d have to slide the knife out and let the Inner Court healing kick in properly. But that would likely render him speechless, he’d lose a great deal of blood.

He had a story to tell, first.

‘Besides, this man was too busy doting on his daughters. Everyone was. Little did he know that this supposedly ‘pacifist’ swan was cunning, Unseelie down to the bone. And she knew the best way to get that hit called off the family she was protecting, didn’t she? Oh, so _clever._ Who cared about the cost being high? Or that she would do something that would compromise even her own personal values, such as they were?’

Gulvi’s breath hitched, her wings twitched. Her hand tightened on her second dagger, then loosened again. She couldn’t tear her eyes away and Augus knew he had her, rolled out his dra’ocht, persuasive and sinister and cold. Even Ash beside him had gone still. His breathing was quiet.

‘Imagine that father coming home to his estate, climbing up those stairs two at a time, excited to see his daughters after a day of…whatever he did. Do you think the smell of blood hit him first? Do you wonder if he knew? The story goes that he didn’t know until he opened the door and saw them both on the floor, swan feathers scattered around the room because oh, they had only been nine, but they put up a _fight._ But I think he was a powerful fae and that he smelled the blood first and wished, oh, _wished_ it wasn’t true. But wishes aren’t much use for us, are they? It didn’t stop their pretty throats from being slit with a curved dagger. Their violet eyes stared up such a sweet pleading at their father but ah, it was too late. Far too late I’m afraid.’

Augus bowed his head, fingered the knife where it went into him. His breathing hitched several times and he squeezed his eyes shut. This would take _time_ to heal, and it was time he didn’t have. He tilted his head up at Gulvi, too pained to lift it properly. He grimaced a smile at her.

‘Can you imagine? It’s a story commonly told. But then, I suppose you don’t need the story when you have the real image in your head, do you?’

He pushed himself upright into a standing position, hunched over the knife, groaned softly.

‘Did you get two knives in the gut for those daughters, Gulvi?’ He looked up. ‘I don’t think you did. Should we invite the father here? He retired, didn’t he? Oh, you did such a good, good job of breaking him.’

Gulvi’s hand spasmed open, her knife dropped on the bed. Augus offered her a smile.

He didn’t use any compulsions, he’d save those for next time if she kept coming at him.

‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, Your Majesties, I have a knife wound to heal from. _Again.’_

He managed his way around the bed, and then exited the room as gracefully as possible, hissing a pained exhale with every breath. It wasn’t until he was down the corridor that he heard Gulvi say:

‘I told you that in confidence!’

Augus grinned.

‘I didn’t think he’d do _that_ with it!’ Ash said, and Augus shook his head as he hobbled down the corridor. ‘Maybe you should stop stabbing him, that’s only a plan A, knowing Augus.’

It was. He hoped it would be effective. It was time that Gulvi remembered that many of her crimes weren’t victimless either.

*

He gave himself two days to heal. It was barely enough time to do anything more than close the wound and allow him to walk around with something of a straight back.

Ash begged him not to go out again, Augus raised an eyebrow at him.

‘I rather think I have a better chance of surviving out there.’

‘No,’ Ash said, chagrined. ‘No. Gulvi is the _best_ there is, and she isn’t trying to kill you! Will you just stay and rest, _please._ You’re tired because of more than a stab wound, I fucking know, and you’re-’

Augus pressed a hand to his forehead, and then reached out hesitantly and curled his fingers into Ash’s shoulder.

‘Ash, I need to find him.’

Ash looked at him, a mix of pity and horror and outrage twisting his features, his eyes filming over with tears. Augus reached up and tugged one of his curls, then tugged at a piece of waterweed, offering something that could have been a smile if he wasn’t so plagued with a desperation to find Gwyn. Every day that passed was a day that he was more likely to be dead and rotting somewhere. Augus was nothing but a realist, and the Seelie Court were looking for him. They were not an unintelligent Court, that much was clear. And Albion _knew_ Gwyn. Perhaps not as well as Augus, but well enough to start a decent attempt at finding him.

They’d set a trap at the old An-Fnwy estate…

‘I don’t like this,’ Ash whispered. ‘I’m the King. I could forbid you.’

‘Don’t,’ Augus replied, lowering the volume of his own voice. ‘Please. If you need to take solace in anything, take it in the fact that I am not…trying to lock you out, as I did before.’

‘Gulvi says you love him,’ Ash said, looking hurt, looking younger. His bottom lip pushed into his upper lip and his brow furrowed and he looked as he did when Augus had to announce that all the apples were gone and he would have to wait until tomorrow for more.

‘Yes,’ Augus said, tired of prevaricating.

‘What did he _do_ to you?’ Ash’s voice broke.

‘He submitted to me,’ Augus smiled grimly. ‘He gave me more than he’s ever given anyone. And I owe him several favours. If you do not believe in the love, brother. Believe I have some life debts to square. I must find him.’

‘Don’t get killed.’

‘I’ll come back,’ Augus closed his eyes as he turned resolutely away from Ash’s doubt. ‘I am nothing if not a survivor.’

*

He managed a week of searching.

He tried the edges of the Seelie Court to pick up a scent. He was attacked twice. Once, when he had to shudder out of his invisibility, triggering yet another magical barrier. A second time, a strange looking fae he wasn’t familiar with shot out of the forest and aimed straight at him, despite the invisibility. He’d taken some shrapnel from some kind of weapon in the arm, had to pick it out himself with sharp claws. He’d soothed himself with the knowledge that if there were fae that could see through his invisibility, they weren’t common, and he still got away.

He tried the cabin Gwyn took him to, the wards disintegrated now. He questioned a hedgehog-shifter family with compulsions, and the fury that overtook him when they all said they’d sell him out – the man who had once been their _King,_ who had saved the Kingdoms – was so profound that he ended up killing them all, painting the walls that no longer had Gwyn’s maps on them with blood. He’d stood over their bodies gasping and splattered with red.

When he kicked one of the bodies aside to look for the stain where Gwyn had spilled onto the wooden floor, he’d noticed it had been sanded away and growled. Augus’ home gone, and his and Gwyn’s history being erased. It didn’t bode well.

He didn’t know the location of the other cabins, and after that he was simply jumping from lake to lake, staying close to the Seelie and Unseelie Courts, focusing on the middleworld around the United Kingdom. He had a feeling Gwyn would stay close. But perhaps that was only because he knew that if he had start ranging further afield, he would finally realise just how lost to him Gwyn was.

He refused that possibility.

*

Augus stumbled back into the Unseelie Court after a week, Ash waiting for him by the lake’s edge, pacing and smelling of fear. Ash’s fear was a spiced thing, complex and layered. It built in stages until finally it was a confection of the stuff.

Augus opened his mouth to ready a weary argument. Ash marched up to him and hauled him upright, growling when Augus winced. His knife wound wasn’t healing properly, he was pushing himself too hard. He couldn’t find the words to protest when Ash hooked one arm underneath his arm, around his back, and started half-dragging him, half-supporting him towards the centre of the Unseelie palace. Augus shuddered and shrunk away from the shadows, and Ash’s growl cut off abruptly, became a soft croon instead.

‘You have to rest now, brother,’ Ash said.

Augus didn’t nod, didn’t shake his head, focused on keeping his feet underneath him. He looked with a bowed head at the corridor ahead, then closed his eyes when Ash directed him into the room that had once belonged to him. He started to ease himself onto the bed, but Ash stopped him with hands clasping his forearms, encouraged him to sit on the edge of the bed.

He almost laughed at the King of the Unseelie fae kneeling before him, undoing the buckles on his boots.

‘You’re angry,’ Augus said.

‘Really fucking pissed,’ Ash agreed. His voice was quiet, his fingers sure. He tugged off each one, having to fight the water that was still dripping from Augus’ body. He had, after all, just emerged from the lake. One of the downsides of being a waterhorse. Even with water-wicking fabric, boots could be a struggle. It was one of the reasons going barefoot was preferred. But Ash was patient, and when both were off, he reached up and undid the belt at Augus’ waist, drawing it and the sheathed rapier away and laying them nearby.

‘And I suppose you think you’re going out again?’ Ash murmured, something steely in his voice.

‘I don’t like you playing at being the older brother. If this is what it was like…’

‘Nah, I was such a delight that you never had to be mean to me.’

Augus closed his eyes as Ash tipped him unceremoniously onto his back. He had retorts on his tongue, but they were all swimming away like tiny fishes. He was spent. But still there was a restless lurking urge inside of him, he pushed his hands underneath himself, forcing his body upright.

‘Just a bit longer,’ Augus said.

‘Yeah, no,’ Ash said gently, knocking one of his hands away. Augus fell backwards. ‘When was the last time you slept?’

‘I don’t want to sleep. You have no right to ask it of me.’

Ash stilled, sighed. Augus remembered Gwyn once saying something similar, before teleporting away from him and locking him out of the inner circles of his rooms. He’d refused aftercare. He’d been so scared of sleeping and the threat of whatever he thought Augus might do to him when he was vulnerable.

‘Actually, I do have a right to ask it of you. But I’ll stay out of here while you do, alright? As much as it kills me to leave you, knowing you’re going to have nightmares. You need the sleep, and I need to know that you’ve gotten it. I’ll be nearby. But I won’t wait here. I promise.’

‘Promise,’ Augus echoed. Ash said something else, but Augus couldn’t hear him. He was drifting down into murk. He twitched once, afraid to go down into that complete blackness, but he couldn’t stop himself. He was too tired.

*

It was a familiar nightmare he wakened to, shrieking for light and then turning and muffling his voice into damp pillows as soon as he realised – groggy – that he was awake and that if Ash was nearby, he would be heard. He gasped, over and over again, struggled to force his breathing to calm. He wondered how long he’d carry these nightmares with him. He had them during his time with the Nightmare King, then afterwards in his home, then in the Raven Prince’s Court, then in his own Court, then in the darkness of a Seelie cell. It didn’t seem to matter how his environment changed, that fear of the dark and what the shadows could mercilessly do to him while he was _in_ it, followed him wherever he went.

But his wound had healed over completely, not even a scar left behind where his fingers brushed over it. He looked for calm and found it while slowly and idly brushing the back of his fingers over the place where Gulvi had stabbed him. He rolled onto his back again, looked hazily up at a vaulted ceiling filled with shadows. He closed his eyes, his lips thinned, he concentrated instead on the feeling of skin against skin, his hand against his torso, just under his ribs.

He was still wearing his pants, his shirt, he needed to change, though all the teleportation through water meant he didn’t need to clean.

He would need to leave again soon anyway.

_Now, it should be now. You don’t even know how long you’ve slept._

The sound of frustration he made was weak. It wasn’t sustainable to keep pushing himself the way he was pushing himself.

_You were supposed to have found him by now. He would have found you._

Damn it, _that_ wasn’t true. No one had found him.

Augus sighed, trailed his hand up his torso underneath his shirt, and then moved it back down again, unbuttoning his shirt from the base and exposing his own chest to himself. He needed something. Just...something.

He caressed one of his nipples and then traced a circle around the other, exhaling, gently drowning his impatience with himself and pushing the despair down even further away. It didn’t belong.

He rubbed a circle into his own belly, thought of all the times he’d rubbed circles into Gwyn’s chest, into his back. Gwyn’s skin had curved more than Augus’ did, his muscles bulged from him, strained against the barrier of skin. Augus was sharp angles, hollowed out above the jut of his hips, his ribs covered with a thinner veneer of muscle. Even with Inner Court status, more musculature on his frame, he wasn’t as fit as he used to be and his body had always tended towards thinness. Gwyn tended towards bulk. Augus wondered how much muscle he’d kept when being dropped down to underfae, he hoped most of it. Gwyn worked at himself, maintained his body.

Augus shuddered as he slipped his fingers beneath the hem of his own pants, and then undid the button quickly, drew down a zipper, looking towards the door. He possibly shouldn’t be doing this, but he didn’t particularly care. If Ash hadn’t burst in when he woke up from the nightmare, he wasn’t likely to burst in now. He felt like he needed this. It wouldn’t take long. He wouldn’t drag it out as he used to. He needed some space in his own body to forget, just for a little while.

He wrapped his fingers around his cock, squeezed softly, savouring the limp, vulnerable flesh. It wouldn’t stay that way for long, so he stroked the edges of his claws up and down, giving himself a sharper sensation than usual. He slowly tightened his fingers around the head of himself, feeling spongy flesh become harder, sighing and arching his hips slightly into his own hand.

He thought about how Gwyn had taken him slowly, the time Augus had been ambushed by him and had expected something rough and violent. Instead, Gwyn had slowly worked him apart, been patient, and Augus had ended up spilling twice – rare for him. Gwyn had been attentive, sweet, and held his own arousal back with a fierceness that Augus had logged away for later. His ability to hold himself back from orgasm only seemed to work without assistance when he was focusing his attention on someone else.

They’d both ended up with a finger inside of Augus’ ass, and Augus smiled to remember it. They’d hooked them together, and Augus remembered the heat of it, the way it had felt, and thickened in his hand, humming in the back of his throat.

But when he smoothed the tip of his thumb over the slit of his cock, he thought abruptly of the time Gwyn had sounded him, had oathed in blood to be gentle and to listen. Augus’ eyes opened and he looked vaguely up at the ceiling as he stroked one hand up across his torso, established a slow, firm rhythm with the other. All his life he never thought he’d enjoy receiving it, and how his centre must have been gone, or at the very least only hanging on by a thread for him to have taken that steady, pleasure-pain the way he had.

He felt embarrassed to ask, but he wanted Gwyn to do it again.

He dipped the tip of his own claw into his slit, created a facsimile of the sharp, fractious sensation of it and his hips bucked. He remembered Gwyn sitting so close to him, knee up against his own, giving all of that singular focus to him in abundance. He’d not failed, not once. He’d even stopped Augus from hurting himself, when Augus forgot that he was supposed to stay still. It had felt very much like a tight ball of sensation had been blown up inside his pelvis, until he was sure it was going to split apart and ruin him.

He’d come harder than he could remember coming in a long time.

Augus stroked ripples of pleasure through his body and then drew his other hand down between his thighs, canting his hips up on bent legs and sliding fingers over his balls. He hissed slightly, he was moving far faster than he normally did, but he didn’t have time to spare, and the thoughts that were swimming through his head were pulling him deep underwater. But memories were left behind, odd feelings. A flash of sadness that Gwyn didn’t know how to do this to himself, even if he did masturbate on the rare occasion. Frustration that Gwyn wasn’t here with him and additional annoyance that all of his thoughts were turning towards him, even now. He couldn’t take space away from Gwyn in his own mind, not in this, not with Gwyn’s hands having been all over his body and inside of him and wringing responses from him for months.

He gasped, rolled his hips up into his own steadily moving palm, then rubbed his thigh carefully, calming himself. His body ached to be spun up in someone else’s concentration, for someone else to take over, and he wasn’t used to this. Small spirals of fear still found him that he could desire this. A year with the Nightmare King, he’d _never_ felt like this.

He had to stop briefly, closing his eyes. This had happened back in the Seelie Court too. He’d try and take pleasure in himself, stray thoughts would come, flashes of the past.

‘Focus,’ he breathed, starting to move his hand again, slower this time, trying to ground himself in sensuality.

He buried himself in memories of Gwyn. Of Gwyn licking his own come, Augus’ come off his fingers and palm and closing his eyes in that way he did, as though he hadn’t tasted anything better. The tight, fluttering pressure on Augus’ cock when he was buried in the back of his throat, and the desperate noises of need Gwyn would make, how they would sing down his spine. The way he writhed on the bed, actually shifted fretfully, when Augus made him rise with pleasure but wouldn’t let him come. The breathless quality of his voice when he’d told Augus that fucking himself with the dildo at his own pace, his own depth, was good, so _good._ If only he knew how to be that eloquent all the time. But it was golden waves of pleasure inside of him to hear Gwyn praising what was happening, to see that dazed arousal in his eyes.

Augus huffed out a breath as his hips bucked sharply, then bit his lips together. He started to laugh when he realised that he was getting off to memories of Gwyn, because there was liking someone, and then there was whatever he was mired in. He’d spent his whole life avoiding feeling this way, perhaps he was making up for lost time.

It was – of all things – Gwyn saying _‘I like making you uncomfortable, Augus,’_ during the sounding, that tipped him over the edge. He arched taut, slowly, spilling into his hands on hypnotic pulses that shook his whole body. He moaned softly, once, then raised one of his own hands and looked at the white-green gleam on his fingers, even as his body went into spasm again.

He wiped his hands off on his own shirt – he didn’t want to soil the bed, and he had to change anyway.

Normally he would give himself time to come down, but he made himself roll off the bed, get up, walk into the giant adjoining rooms that were the wardrobe. He shed his own clothing quickly and took new pants, a new shirt, wove around to find new boots. He got dressed, the pleasant ache of orgasm fading into something bleaker.

He belted on his rapier again and walked out of the room, headed back in the direction of the lake. His search wasn’t futile. He would keep looking until he found Gwyn either dead, or alive.

He had to keep looking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, 'Accidents:' 
> 
> ‘World’s already screwed enough, isn’t it? Might as well get us involved. By the way, there’s some underworld creatures down there who are _very_ unhappy with you about that Soulbond. Phew. You’d best never go down there. Probably ever. Shame you’re going to have to one day. You’re going to have to cauterise that wound of yours if you actually want to live.’


	40. Accidents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No new tags. However in line with the graphic violence warning - please be advised there is an injury scene in this chapter that may be difficult to read.
> 
> *
> 
> A GIANT thank you to everyone who is commenting (your comments give me life! hee), kudosing, bookmarking, subscribing and *reading.* THANK YOU. lkdsajfdsalkfjsa no really oh my goodness, thank you.

Gwyn woke screaming into a strip of his own shirt. He tore it off and remembered where he was, how sore his body was, what had happened.

Weeks had passed. But he was alive. He wasn’t sure it mattered, but he was alive.

The Blue Annis hadn’t been able to cross their forest’s boundary. He’d skidded out of the forest abruptly, tumbling down a ravine, falling insensate at the bottom, lungs burning as he gasped for air, body sore, rib throbbing at him. There he’d crawled into the lee of a stone where it was far too cold for comfort and sleep had overtaken him. He’d had no choice, he needed _sleep._

He woke screaming from nightmares two days later, partially frostbitten and two Unseelie common fae standing over him. They watched him like they weren’t quite sure what to do, but he could tell from the weapons they held – an axe, a pitchfork – they meant him harm. He’d growled and lunged at them, stumbling on numbed feet and still groggy with dream-memories of killing people who’d never deserved death. But that had been enough, they’d turned and fled.

Later, rubbing the feeling back into his feet and hands, he’d realised that his reputation still counted for something. Fae knew of him as a berserker on the battlefield. It seemed to have some traction, at least in some circles.

But it wasn’t enough to keep him safe. The Unseelie fae had alerted others, and Gwyn spent much of the next few days running, using stealth to hide his tracks, until finally – terrified and aware that his body was demanding sleep again – he’d thrown himself into teleportation and managed to land in a poor quality woodland several kilometres away. He’d crept into a thicket, slumped down, slept again.

And so it went.

He needed food. He needed water. The latter was easy enough to find, but food was difficult. He needed so much, and his physical condition, his very appearance meant he couldn’t pass in the human world as anything more than a vagrant. Not only that, but teleporting across the veil into the human world was simply too difficult to repeat after that first time. It taxed too much energy.

The fae land with the best access to fruit, berries, animals, was the land guarded fiercely by other species of fae that would have attacked him even if there hadn’t been a price on his head, even if he wasn’t the demoted and deposed once-King of the Seelie fae.

His skin was covered in scratches, grazes and lacerations. His hair was a tangled mess, and he had no way of cutting it. He’d tried untangling the snarls and knots in it, but had only succeeded in losing patience with himself and ripping out a section of his own hair. He left it alone after that. It wasn’t bothering him too much. He’d lived like this once before, wild and in the woods. Only then, he’d had a safe, warded cabin to go to whenever he wanted a place to rest.

Still, sleeping in thickets and on the cold ground wasn’t unfamiliar. He knew how to strip bark from certain plants to chew at the softer, pulpier sweet woods underneath for sugars and cellulose. He knew what was edible and what was not. He had no compunctions eating grubs and caterpillars, snatching crickets when he found them. It was piecemeal, he was dropping weight fast, but it was better than not knowing his environment at all. He was becoming aware of how much of his life was centring purely on survival. He ate enough to fuel him to run from place to place, he hid and slept so he would recharge enough to eat again.

In those early days, he didn’t have enough time to think much about the Seelie Court, Crielle, or the Unseelie Court and Augus. There were too many close calls, too much running.

After the second time sleeping, waking up screaming, he’d ripped a strip off his shirt and worn it as a pale linen band around his wrist. He had it for one reason only; he gagged himself before sleeping. It was uncomfortable, it made him feel trapped, made it harder to sleep, but…

He was too loud, too fretful when he slept, and he couldn’t seem to switch his body over into dozes like he used to. His body was far louder than his mind now that he was underfae, far more demanding. He needed something to mask his screaming, or at least quieten it.

Gwyn pushed himself upright, untying the circle of material and then retying it –wet with saliva as it was – around his wrist. He stared down at his right hand where he’d tied it, looked at the cuts, the scratches, closed his eyes.

He needed to find a place to settle. He couldn’t keep running from territory to territory like this. But as underfae he had no right to land, he had to fight for it or take very low grade land to himself, which meant poor pickings for food and clean water. Not only that, but any class higher than underfae – which was _all_ of them – could challenge him for land and had the right to kill him if he refused. He could also be challenged by fellow underfae.

Gwyn knew that he was physically strong and mentally competent, but he was at a significant disadvantage. He still wasn’t using his light. All other fae, that he could tell, had their innate abilities and wouldn’t hesitate to use them. His light stayed locked inside him. He felt it, close to the surface, but he couldn’t seem to go beneath and _use_ it since the demotion, and he didn’t want to, anyway. But the one time he’d reached for it, he’d only succeeded in blistering his own forearm.

 _What use is being classless if I can’t_ use _it?_

He pushed himself upright and looked around. He was starting to forget where he was, despite having an accurate internal compass. He’d teleported and run so far, so often, that landscapes were blurring into each other. And here, in fir forest of poor quality, he had to turn several times to get his bearings. After that, the sharp ache of his stomach, the burn of acid in his oesophagus, drove him to search for food. It wasn’t the right season for bird’s eggs in the trees, and he was becoming aware that making the climbs would make the food burn away too quickly anyway. He would normally attempt to make some traps – even without a knife, he could make a trap – but he was leaving places too quickly to come back and check.

He couldn’t draw his bow and arrow properly, though he’d managed several rabbits. The tension he needed to pull in the string made his injured rib throb so heavily he would start to shake. He knew it was healing, but every time he drew on the string, he was making it harder for the bone to heal and ossify around the place it had simply been cut away.

He stuck to insects. The fatty, bitter bodies of moths that crunched underneath teeth and never tasted palatable. The grubs that were better, but required time to find. Not only that, but pulling bark back from the trees sometimes cracked too loudly to keep Gwyn hidden. Still, he managed. He refused to use his animal Calling ability to him to acquire food. A deep well of knowledge inside of him – older than he was – told him that it would be _wrong._

But he was tempted.

More days passed, and Gwyn was in a new forest now. A cursed forest that had been recently taken by disease, the branches rotting from the trees and falling with intermittent _thuds_ onto the forest floor. The whole landscape smelled of a cloying fungus that itched at his nostrils and his throat. But here there were still animals remaining, and very few fae. They’d never liked unlucky or cursed regions.

He’d come across two Unseelie fungus fae – Ffaffters – but they’d given him a wide berth and not challenged him. He realised that if they were the primary species here, he might indeed be able to find a small tract of land he could make his own.

So it was by a hillock of moss-covered rocks in the shadow of a dark grey, unstable cliff that had once been some kind of fae quarry cut into a hill, that he began dragging branches and grasses to make something of a home for himself. He even risked a fire, the first for…he couldn’t quite remember how long. Warming his hands in front of it felt so good that his eyes started to burn. That evening, in the cold – unwilling to risk being found by the light of the fire – he realised how much he missed those soldiers who could manage enough of magic that they could make smokeless fires with their many-coloured flames.

Still, he was warmer than normal, covered in sheafs of dry, dead grass. They all smelled more of mould and fungus than he would prefer, but it was something approaching comfortable.

He’d stayed up and waited for a comet that he could sense coming hours before it came. He’d always been able to do that. Meteors, comets, other flying space debris, it all sang in his blood before he saw them streak across the skies. He stared up at the stars, silently naming all the constellations to himself, then pointed where the comet would fly across the sky before it flew. And there, appearing from the point of his index finger like he’d willed it, the meteor streaked across the sky. He followed it with his eyes, sighed when it disappeared. Anything else flying across the sky was too far away for his blood to pick up. He turned and unwrapped the linen from his wrist before gagging himself. It dried his lips, dried his mouth, but he had to.

The nightmares wouldn’t stop.

But it was something – he thought – that waking up was still preferable to the things he saw in his head when he slept.

*

There was a river with fresh, clean running water about two kilometres from his home, and he made the walk frequently. Gwyn had no rod or line for fishing, and he contemplated stealing one. Before he resorted to that, he decided to lay down by the river bank and to see if he could let his hand go lax enough in the frigid water and simply use one of the earliest fishing techniques he’d been taught. Even as the sensation bleached from his fingers, he felt one fish, then another fish brush against him. They checked to see if he was edible, then began to accept his presence in the water. He swallowed hungrily at the prospect of raw or cooked fish – raw first, he thought, cooked later.

A sharp _zing,_ then a thud in his shoulder that forced a roar from his throat.

He pushed himself upright, slipping on his numb, wet hand, exhaling pain as he realised that it was an _arrow_ through his shoulder. The arrowhead pinned him to the floor of the bank. His right shoulder was a mess of feedback, by turns without feeling, then screeching pain at him.

Turning, he saw two men in Crielle’s colours. Both had new arrows drawn on him. He stared, breathless.  

How did they find him? Was he being tracked with magic? _How?_ Did his mother lay a spell on him while he was unconscious in the cell? You could only track someone who teleported with the assistance of a Mage, and that Mage had to lay their magic directly on the person. They couldn’t just-

Gwyn stood, but felt faint. A vicious light pulsed in the back of his mind.

‘Dead or alive?’ Gwyn called to them. His voice was ruined with pain.

‘Either,’ one called back. He had a thin, stern look about him. His hair pulled back in a tail. Gwyn didn’t recognise him, but he knew the other. A local colleague of Lludd’s who had served alongside him in the military, then retired to join his personal, local retinue. Now one of Crielle’s soldiers.

‘Preferrably alive,’ the other one called. Gwyn thought his name might be Eudav. He’d lived nearby. Sometimes he brought pears with dark red flesh over, they’d tasted of melancholy Autumns and sombre Winters and held the magic of nostalgia in them. Gwyn could never eat them. ‘Crielle wants you.’

The arrow in his shoulder meant they didn’t particularly care what condition he was in. He ached to yank it out and start healing. It had gone directly through him, unbalanced his body. It sent lancing pain down his side.

He knew then, Crielle would never stop. She would hunt him, torture him, do whatever she wished now that her centre was no longer appearance. She would want vengeance for the house arrest, she would blame it all on him.

He turned and scanned his environment. He couldn’t teleport; not quickly enough to avoid another arrow through the heart. He’d need to get far enough away to buy himself a few seconds.

‘I wouldn’t, if I were you!’ Eudav shouted.

His bow and arrow were two kilometres away.

He looked around again, the stern one took several steps forward.

‘We _will_ kill you,’ he called.

Light pulsed so hard behind his eyes that his hands clenched into fists, and he stumbled, bowing over the pain in his head. The headaches that he’d started getting had never properly gone away, and every now and then they became a sharp flash of excruciating pain, turning everything to a blaze of white. When he came back to himself, they were closer, talking to each other, the soft, muted voices of two soldiers who thought the arrow in his shoulder had disarmed him.

He exhaled so hard that it was a pained sound. It felt as though the light was soldering his veins to the underside of his skin, crackling through. He blinked blurrily at his own arms, making sure they weren’t blistering, he could hardly tell. The arrow in his shoulder was a welling throb, and he knew then that it had done damage somehow, perhaps sheared a nerve, pierced cartilage. He grunted softly, staggered backwards.

‘Ever thought you’d see the day where it’d be this easy?’ It was the one who wasn’t Eudav. Gwyn didn’t hear the reply. He felt as though a great white serpent was coiling up through his spine, looking for a way out of his body. He felt like he had when he was _six,_ and he’d only wanted to defend himself from his father’s wrath.

A wheeze of an inhale, and then an even heavier exhale and his uninjured arm was raising. He stared at it, blinking tears out of his eyes hurriedly, trying to concentrate.

At once, the coil of light inside of him struck. A great, ominous force thundered through him. It arced through his arm, tearing a short, sharp shout from the back of his throat, then shot out of his palm into the chest of one of the soldiers. It blazed so brightly that Gwyn was blinded by it, even though it was the most focused it had ever been. Not a chaotic ball, but a directed line of the stuff, burning through his arm.

It happened too quickly to be controlled.

Instead of being reduced to ash, the fae collapsed like a ragdoll, the life burned out of him as the light retracted into Gwyn’s body. His chest a blackened mess.

Gwyn stared, dazed, as the light pooled in his belly. There was a strange, heavy feeling inside of him, and he turned his mind inwards briefly – even has he watched Eudav – to try and feel out what it was. It wasn’t just centred in his belly, but his entire body.

His eyes widened. He felt _sated._ He realised he’d never felt anything like it before. He straightened despite the pain in his shoulder and blinked at the world around him. He thought he could feel the magic that made him, all of it satisfied, the light a lazy predatorial whisper inside of him now, directing his eyes towards Eudav. Gwyn swallowed, saliva flooding his mouth, not because he was truly hungry anymore, but because he could feed anyway.

He hadn’t known it could be like that. He’d killed with his light, yes, but never had he taken...whatever he’d taken back into his body like that. It had never suffused his cells, his marrow, down to the tips of his toes.

Eudav’s eyes were wide and horrified, and Gwyn blinked slowly, licked his lips. He looked at his own blistered palm, and then raised it again, feeling how easy it could be now. It wasn’t like before. It didn’t feel nearly so uncontrollable. It was a giant beast inside of him reaching out a lazy paw, he flexed his fingers.

Eudav turned and fled.

Gwyn, shoulder hurting badly, forced himself to follow. He could hardly think, letting the hunger take him over. He couldn’t afford for Eudav to live and report back to Crielle.

In the back of his mind, a vague nausea at what he’d just done. He pushed that aside as best as he could.

Eudav was getting away from him. He had the benefit of being fleet and having a higher status, and Gwyn – who had always been fast – was injured. Every footfall unleashed a ball of throbbing, swooping pain inside of him. He tried changing his gait, even shifted to the very balls of his feet to make his steps lighter, it didn’t help.

The light pushed hard inside of him, and he tried to control it, tried to push it back, but he didn’t have the mental fortitude. Even redolent and full with whatever energy he’d pulled back into himself, it struck fast. One moment his hand was up and shaking, the next the light had lashed out and pummelled into Eudav from behind, throwing him metres across the fungus-filled woods. He didn’t even have enough time to scream. He was dead as soon as the light hit him.

The bright, white arc of it coiled back into Gwyn so quickly that he fell to his knees, blinked stars away from his eyes. He had no words to describe how he felt. He’d never done anything like that before in his life. Whatever bloodlust had awoken in him was slaked and he rested his blistered, bleeding palm into leaf litter and dried moss as he gasped through the giant fullness inside of him.

The light withdrew naturally, going dormant somewhere in his gut.

A few seconds later he turned and threw up bile, the force of what he’d done overtaking his mind. He’d just _fed_ on the death of two fae, and not in some strange abstract way.

He fed on death. And not the death of humans, or animals, or plants, but the death of his kin. He might not actively cannibalise the flesh of them, but he _ate_ his own kind.

‘By the g-ods,’ Gwyn moaned, spitting out acid and heaving out a dry sob as his shoulder flared with agony.

It took him several minutes to collect himself, but he forced himself upright and over to Eudav’s body, trying not to look at the black mark on his back but finding himself unable to rip his gaze away. He ghosted hurt fingers over it, and then bit his lower lip and quickly started rummaging through Eudav’s pockets, stripping him of his boots, his pants, his shirts, the arm guard and other items he had attached to his hands to help protect them when shooting his bow and arrow.

He only had one arm free, and his strength was waning, so he cached the clothing and the bow and arrow, burying it and covering it with the mouldy odour of forest litter from a dying forest. He found a small blue bauble which he suspected was the charm they were using to track him. He cracked it in his palm, the glass turned clear. At least the tracker was dead, but the spell likely wasn’t.

He was shaking too hard when he found the other fae’s body, and a swoop of dizziness sent him down to his forehead when he slipped his hand into the man’s pocket. He gasped spores into his lungs and the paroxysm of coughing that followed was so violent that he had to grit his teeth on screams of pain.

The pocket knife he found would come in handy. He needed a knife. He tried not to think about the other pocket knife he’d been gifted – even though it was his own – and then lost only a short time later.

_Another Seelie artefact, Albion would never know it’s significance._

He was hardly thinking when he reached up and ripped the arrow from his shoulder. Only hoping that once the foreign body was gone, he’d heal. And as blood poured down his arm and torso and trickled onto the body of the dead fae he bowed over, his vision swimming, he realised that if anyone were to come after him now, he’d be easy to kill, because he was going to pass out.

*

When he woke, it was dark. He had no idea how much time had passed.

He pressed fingers into his shoulder, expecting it to have at least knitted over, and froze when his hands squelched into a mess of clots, dried blood, and a thick ooze that stuck to his fingers. His breathing was shaky. His body felt warm.

He’d forgotten.

He didn’t have his Court healing capacity anymore, and certainly not the healing capacity of Kingship.

He lay on the cold body of the fae beneath him and stared up, trying to gather his thoughts together. They were sluggish, uncooperative.

He had to get away. He couldn’t stay here, not where he’d been discovered.

He wasn’t sure where he could go anymore. He’d been aiming for places that seemed poorly inhabited, or even unlucky, but it wasn’t working. He couldn’t go to the Unseelie Court. He was injured. He was healing like an underfae.

When he took his fingers away from his wound, he resisted the urge to be ill again.

He still, thankfully, felt well-fed, and at least that would make him as clear-headed as possible.

His clothing was a mess. Caked to his body with blood. He forced himself to his feet, tried to sniff through a blocked nose, and then walked as quietly as possible to the cache, picking up Eudav’s clothing. They both had a similar build, though he suspected the shirt wouldn’t be broad enough at the shoulders. He likely couldn’t manage sleeves anyway. He left the bow and arrow behind. The next time he was well enough to draw one again, he’d be well enough to teleport back and grab it.

He felt, of all things, lonely.

His thoughts strayed to Augus and he squeezed his eyes shut, bowed his head. He tried not to think about Augus, but his mind insisted on shoving him to the forefront and he took several deep, slow breaths. Everything hurt _more_ when he thought of Augus. He was a mess of feelings. The hope that Augus was alright and taking care of himself. A terrible, heavy melancholy that everything was over, that...what’d he’d had was possibly the best he could ever aspire to have. At least Augus was still alive, or that’s what he told himself. He had to believe that was true.

‘Oh,’ Gwyn breathed, his eyes flying open.

_The Blighted land, you could go to that._

Gwyn lifted his head and looked around. Could he? The land Augus had destroyed had a reputation for being terribly unlucky, and to his knowledge, no fae had attempted to recolonise it or bring it back to life again; even those fae who initially lived there and could trace their connection to the land back generations. Not only that, but the Blighted sections of land were always centred around a lake or river, so there would be – he hoped – potable water for him to drink. The land itself wasn’t as large as what he’d destroyed at the first An-Fnwy estate, so he could always move beyond its bounds for food.

And if he was attacked again, he knew now that he could feed. The horror of the act still hadn’t fully reached him, he didn’t want it to. He needed to eat and sate himself, he couldn’t afford anything other than survival.

_Will you never be anything other than a failure at dying?_

He hoped so. Years on the battlefield; of near misses and surviving torture and recovering from untenable wounds – he hoped that he could just hang on a bit longer. He didn’t know what he was hanging on for anymore, only that he didn’t want his death to be at the hands of Albion or his mother, or their people.

He just wanted it on his own terms, whatever those terms might be.

*

The teleportation to the Blighted lake of Annwth, near the Unseelie Court, was so harrowing that he collapsed unconscious upon arriving.

When he swam towards consciousness, he became aware of a heat flowing through him, opened his eyes and stared up at the cold sun. His shoulder felt three times larger than it was, and he reached over tentatively. He could feel heat radiating from it. A dull horror infused him.

Infection. He could be killed by infection now. Was that what he had? He wasn’t sure. He’d never had it before.

But he’d seen it.

He touched the skin at his shoulder and cried out softly, flinching away from his own touch and then keening under his breath at the pain that radiated through his joint, down into his hand, across his spine, up into the back of his head. It frightened him. He’d dealt with worse pain; but he always knew he would survive it in the past. This was different. The pain felt sickened, twisted. His eyes roved, and he looked at nothing in particular as he reached back and touched the skin around the wound again. It felt stretched too tight, about to burst. It was hot. That was infection, wasn’t it?

The pain was unlike anything he’d ever felt before, and he knew a diversity of pain. It wasn’t the worst he’d ever felt, but there was an agonising wrongness about it, as though his entire body was revolting against the wound in his shoulder. It didn’t feel like it had knitted together at all. He should have cleaned the wound, he shouldn’t have ripped the arrow out so abruptly. He hadn’t even tried to make the action smooth, not thinking that...he’d have to heal from ripping his own flesh further. What if there was fletching left behind? Bits of bird feather stuck in his flesh?

He tried to stand to get down to the lake, but couldn’t manage it. Instead, he crawled down on three limbs, holding his injured arm to his chest and laughing drily when he realised the picture he must make.

He eased himself into the water, grateful for the shallow bank at which he found himself. This must have been a very nice lake once. He had no idea how Augus had destroyed the land, given that one of his innate abilities was to create life. He’d likely never get the chance to ask now.

It took time to soak the shredded shirt away from his shoulder enough that he could take it off, and then it took concentration not to let darkness overtake his mind as he eased it off his body. He was bleeding again – thankfully not much – when he finally got the shirt off himself. His rib ached. The cold of the lake itself was starting to numb his shoulder into a dull throb, but it was turning the rest of his body too cold, and he could tell that there was something wrong with his body temperature.

Not only that, but he was sweating. His forehead was still hot.

He began to shiver.

He wished he knew someone to go to. He’d met so many healers in his lifetime, and yet...

Gwyn looked at the wound in his shoulder, even though turning his neck to see it stretched the skin in such a way as to make choked sounds bubble up from his throat.

_What do I do?_

He stayed in the water for as long as he dared risk the cold temperature, rubbing away flaked blood, gritting his teeth through greying vision as he attempted to clean the wound itself, not knowing what he was doing. Rinsing it in water wouldn’t be enough, he knew that much. The arrow had gone through his shoulder. He could have infection in the bone. That happened, people died from it. Even Icturiel and Capital fae could die from it.

‘Fuck,’ Gwyn breathed. _‘Fuck.’_

In the end he staggered back up to the bank and, shivering, realised he would have to make a fire. His body wasn’t even attempting to regulate its temperature anymore, and by turns he felt chilled and then so hot he poured sweat.

Realising he needed to make a fire, and actually making one were two different things. The initial thought was easy. But he couldn’t rub sticks together, he didn’t have any flint, and he had no coals or even matches from the human world. Then, at the end of his wits, having gathered wood and tinder and extra sticks that he’d piled nearby, he ended up bowing over the wood itself and clasping his good hand to his chest, shaking so hard his teeth were chattering.

He’d never really had to think about his mortality before. Not as some fragile thing that could sneak upon him, death visiting as casually as a hand upon the shoulder. It had always been something he’d needed to fight to even be close to. Even when he’d attempted suicide, he’d needed to be _thorough._ Something as simple as blood-loss wouldn’t do it, not as Court fae.

And now, here, unable to even make a fire, he was struck by how comical it all was. When he wanted death, it never came for him. And when he finally started fighting for himself again, it came and pressed its face to his, breathed cloyingly into his mouth.

He groaned at a wave of pain triggered by shivering that he couldn’t help. The tremors were rough with him, even his feet had cramped.

He stared glassily at the cold wood piled in front of him and looked up to the sky briefly, and then placed his good hand on the ground.

Fae weren’t really supposed to do what he was contemplating doing.

But he’d already broken enough fae laws, as a child, as an adult. He’d brought Old Lore back into the world. Not just an aithwick attached to his rib, but a Soulbond. He’d already done the damage. What more could he do? And for only a fire?

He lifted his hand and placed it flat against his chest, listening to his uneven breathing. He tried to clear his thoughts, could barely manage.

‘Ancient gods of fire, from the upper and underworlds both, I don’t know if you can hear me, or if you would even visit land such as this, but please accept my offering of fealty, and know that I will repay you when I ask you to give life to this fire so that I might warm myself by your light, and live another night.’

It would have to do.

He waited. He didn’t even know if the ancient appeals worked anymore. Most fae thought themselves as equal to the gods; even the demigods like Albion thought as much. That was because the upperworld and underworld deities wanted very little to do with the middleworld fae, and they rarely interacted. But – he knew from the tales – they watched sometimes.

Was anyone watching him? He was classless and Unseelie and – though it pained him to acknowledge it – significant in the fae world. Even if he was significant for the wrong reasons.

The fire didn’t light and Gwyn squeezed his eyes shut.

_‘Please.’_

A sharp pop, and his eyes opened slower than he would have liked, to see what looked like a young man of about nineteen crouching opposite him, as the fire slowly crackled and smoked to life. He had a rough look about him. Wild yellow eyes, small teeth in a small and sharp smile, ears that were furred red and tufted with black at the ends, to match ringlets of black hair that fell only to his ears. He wore the bright furs of animals Gwyn had never seen before, and there were small ridges of black and red bone growing from his forearms, along cheekbones.

He knew he was in the presence of a god, because a deep, welling of dread suffused him. He swallowed in terror before the being.

‘There,’ the god said, grinning at the fire. He thrust his hand directly into the newborn flames and shifted the wood around directly. Gwyn smelled no burning flesh, saw no increased smoke, and when the deity took his hand away and shook the flames off himself, they fell like living creatures, leaving his skin unmarred. ‘There that will do. Look now, I’ve just saved your life.’

‘No,’ Gwyn said, eyes widening. He wanted no life debt to a _god._

‘Uh, _yes,’_ the god grinned. ‘By the way, I’m Kabiri. You’re that one with the weird lineage, aren’t you?’

Gwyn tried to blink away his headache, but couldn’t. Something about the being in front of him was throwing off his thoughts. He was dazed. He felt threatened. His light crackled inside of him.

‘You’re not...Kabiri,’ Gwyn said, recalling his own studies. ‘They’re a...group.’

‘Then I’m Kabiri and _one of the_ Kabiri. You’re fussy for someone about to die.’

‘Not about to die,’ Gwyn said. ‘Just needed warmth. To...recover. No life debt.’

‘Oh, yes, a life debt.’ Kabiri crossed his legs and folded his arms across his knees. ‘Absolutely a life debt.’

He looked around, shrugged.

‘World’s already screwed enough, isn’t it? Might as well get us involved. By the way, there’s some underworld creatures down there who are _very_ unhappy with you about that Soulbond. Phew. You’d best never go down there. Probably ever. Shame you’re going to have to one day. You’re going to have to cauterise that wound of yours if you actually want to live.’

‘If I sleep, it will heal,’ Gwyn said. Something passed over Kabiri’s face then that could have been pity.

‘No, little thing. If you sleep, you will die. Your body will burn itself up – get it? – trying to fight the infection. Throw that knife in your pocket into the flames. I’ll make it hot enough. I could even do it for you, if you like.’

Kabiri. They were the...children of Hephaestus, and an underworld cult of gods. He winced.

‘I can’t trust you.’

He raised his hand, reached for his light. He wasn’t going to do anything with it, he just wanted it close. But Kabiri, or whoever he was, raised his eyebrows, amused. He made the tiniest gesture with his hand, and Gwyn convulsed around himself, collapsed to his side as the light was shoved back down inside of him, far further than he’d ever been able to push it himself. He choked, made strangled noises, and Kabiri got up and walked around the fire towards him.

‘This,’ Kabiri said, casually kicking him in the shoulder. Gwyn screamed as Kabiri kept talking, he didn’t catch any of it. He tumbled in darkness, sunk into the black, scared for a moment that he was falling into the underworlds.

*

There was blackness around him, he swam out of it. He reminded himself that he’d done this before. Had he been tortured? He couldn’t recall.

He groaned in frustration when he saw Kabiri’s face looming over him. His breath smelled like ashes.

‘You’re dying,’ Kabiri said, looking entirely nonplussed. The fire beside them was so hot that Gwyn felt as though he was roasting.

‘You’re a liar,’ Gwyn said. ‘An underworld god. You can’t be trusted.’

Kabiri gave a delighted laugh.

‘You’re _Unseelie!_ We’re practically family. You’re _also_ a liar, and can’t be trusted. But you don’t know that, do you? I mean you sort of do, but not really. You’ll owe me a life debt. And you’re not going to like this – I’m leaving it open-ended. I won’t name my terms until later. Much later.’

Gwyn remembered abruptly the origami, Old Lore animals, shook his head weakly.

‘Then die, for all I care. You asked for me. You promised me _fealty.’_

‘I was hoping for an upperworld god.’

‘Aw, because they’re so much better,’ Kabiri snorted. ‘Did you forget your alignment for a second? You come from the dirt and the shadows like the rest of us, no matter that light that lives inside of you. That’s not light, that’s the light at the end of the tunnel. You know. Near death experience? You’ve had enough. You should know.’

‘Never seen it,’ Gwyn gasped.

‘Colour me surprised,’ Kabiri said quietly. Gwyn felt a hand on his forehead. Heard the sound of something rummaging around nearby in the fire.

‘I will heal,’ Gwyn said, but his voice was thready, and he could feel his heart beating so hard that he could feel it through his entire body.

‘You’re not like the Each Uisge. You won’t reincarnate when you go. You’ll just be gone. You’re only around three thousand, right? A baby. Besides, you _can’t_ die. You owe me. I gave you a fire, and you offered repayment not for your life, but for the simple fact of the fire. Two favours. Now...’

Implacable fingers dug into his good shoulder, and then he found himself straddled by an impossibly hot weight. He struggled, the fingers dug in harder. The hand was only small, but the deity was stronger than the fae.

There were fae that also lived in the underworlds, the upperworlds, but those places weren’t their domain. That was where the gods ruled. They’d abandoned the middleworld to humans and fae. Any gods remaining on the middleworld were demigods growing in strength, or dormant nature gods, living in the land and slumbering deep.

‘This is going to feel like dying. Be a phoenix for me. Rise up and get over it.’

Gwyn’s body jack-knifed when he realised what Kabiri was about to do, or it tried to. Kabiri’s grip was relentless, and he watched in horror as Kabiri drew not the knife, but his own hand from the fire. It morphed before his view, turning into something crablike, pincers lengthening until they resembled red-hot skewers growing directly out of his arm.

‘I don’t even need a fire for this,’ Kabiri muttered. ‘But it’s all a part of the show isn’t it? Just like you fae with your alignments. Silly, really. Didn’t always used to be that way. Not that it’s any of my business. And will you stop _squirming?’_

One of the elongated skewers protruding from Kabiris’ arm plunged into his shoulder, straight where the arrow had passed. Gwyn heard a terrible noise, felt the flesh rip in his own throat from the force of it.

He was slow in passing out. The pain reached a crescendo, then eclipsed it again. The last thing he remembered seeing was Kabiri turning back to him from where he’d been watching his shoulder. He rolled his eyes when he saw that Gwyn was still awake, his lips moved but Gwyn couldn’t make out the words.

A hand on his forehead scalding the sweat on his flesh, and everything was black.

*

‘You owe me,’ Kabiri said from across the fire – cross-legged as he had been before he straddled Gwyn. The fire was still burning, but much lower now. Gwyn could feel it, but not see it. His eyes were glued shut. His shoulder was a mess of pain. He couldn’t feel his right hand at all. His head felt like it had a lance through it.

‘Am I...not dead?’

‘Not yet. But you had better rest. I’m not a healer. And you are very _nearly_ dead. And you owe me. And if you don’t pay me back in this life, I will find you in a Land of the Dead, and you won’t like me when I’m Cadmilus, trust me.’

Gwyn tried to pick the gum out of his eyes that was sealing them shut, with a hand blistered from using his light. He forced his thoughts together. He’d asked for this. He didn’t like the consequences, but he’d asked. And if it was the only thing that would save him, as Kabiri said, then he would simply have to deal with that.

‘Then tell me what I owe you,’ Gwyn rasped.

‘Oh, oh no,’ Kabiri laughed. ‘It’s an open-ended debt for when I have need. Whenever I like. Whatever I want. You play with Old Lore and Soulbonds and piss off our kind, I’m going to ask for whatever I want. I don’t know what you can do for me yet, but I’m sure there’ll be something. Who knows?’

Kabiri stood up and winked at him.

‘Remember, there are some debts that follow you beyond death.’

‘I didn’t ask for you,’ Gwyn whispered, closing his eyes weakly.

‘Yes, yes you did.’

Gwyn felt the small god – so much older than the young man he appeared as, his very energy a sickness in Gwyn’s mind – kneel beside him. He felt soft, hot hands on his cheeks. They were tender. ‘Yes, you asked for me. The eleventh hour. All of that. You know how this goes. Fate and etcetera.’

Gwyn huffed out a laugh, and Kabiri joined him a moment later, a voice full-bodied and so warm and engaging that Gwyn thought he might sink into it like a child, wrapped in flame. He leaned into the touch without thinking.

‘Careful now,’ Kabiri said. He withdrew his hands slowly, fingers caressing his cheeks. ‘Rest. A few days. You have them. You’re fed, and if you let yourself, you will live. It’s a choice now. An easy one. The fire will burn for a week. That’s all I’ll give you. After that, I’ll come to collect at a time of my convenience, no matter what world you live in. I can go _everywhere,_ my little, little thing.’

A brief caress at his forehead, and Gwyn was reminded of Augus, and his breathing hitched.

 _‘Gramercie,’_ he whispered.

But he got no response, and when he managed to open his eyes, Kabiri was gone.

*

The next two days passed in a blur of sleep and nightmares.

At one point the nightmares were so bad that he woke unleashing his light. He heard sounds, shouts of horror that were abruptly cut off, but he felt weak as a newborn and couldn’t do much more than shift his body on the ground, unprotected as it was, by a still-burning fire. He slept deeply after that.

He woke up to starlight. He murmured a name in his throat, but his mouth was so dry that it was nothing more than a breath of air.

He was cool, his skin felt clammy, but he didn’t think he was sweating anymore even though the fire was quite warm. He was dehydrated and needed water, but there was a lake nearby. He could smell it. He turned his head to look at it, and then mouthed the name again. A heavy weight pressed on his chest when he realised whose name it was and he closed his eyes, unable to bear it for several minutes.

The Blighted land he’d chosen was so close to the Unseelie Court he could practically walk there. A way of being close without...hurting anyone.

‘Get...up,’ Gwyn whispered to himself.

He rolled to his good side, tried to brace himself for the pain, but couldn’t. It affected too much of his body at once. And, half-kneeling, half-lying on his good side, he started to wheeze out a laugh.

 _This isn’t nearly as bad as Tigbalan. That was two weeks! This is_ one wound. _Get up. You need water._

He forced himself up onto his knees and looked around. The fire was still going. He blinked at it, dazed and then dismayed. He really had made himself a significant debt with an underworld god. That would come back to haunt him one day. It seemed he was destined to ravel himself up in traps and snares, even when he was out of the Seelie Court.

Beyond that, he saw three bodies lying limply nearby. They’d been dead for a few days, perhaps. Each bore the char marks of his light, and when Gwyn realised his good hand was freshly blistered.

_The nightmare..._

It hadn’t been a nightmare, he was still being tracked. He swallowed and looked around again, but the land was empty, and he couldn’t see anyone.

That was why he felt fed still, he supposed. His appetite had been satisfied without even knowing it. But he still needed water.

Making his way down to the lake was a chore, and he was shaking badly when he reached the shallow bank. The water tasted good in his trembling hand – it was clean, at least, if a little stagnant. The lake must have been fed by a well of some sort. It would have been a lovely place when it was filled with plants and surrounded by an ecosystem. There were lovely rise and falls in the land around him, but flat places for basking near the lake if necessary. Gwyn wondered who used to live here. He wasn’t familiar with the place, or he didn’t think he was.

After drinking, the lake never settled enough in the light breeze to show him what his shoulder looked like. He pressed his fingers to the front of it, only lightly touching, and felt the crust of dried blood and who knew what else. It was painful, and he knew from shifting his body weight, the inevitable shifts of the joint, that it wasn’t healing properly. It felt wrong. It felt far worse than any arrow wound he’d had at Court status or higher. It was as though something with claws had dug in and scrambled up the nerves and bone. And he knew it wasn’t true, it still essentially looked like his _shoulder._ But...he’d had no concept that injuries could be so bad for underfae.

He didn’t know it would be like this.

His good hand clenched when he suddenly remembered thrusting the arrow into Augus’ shoulder when he’d hunted him. Augus had been underfae, struggling with fear. At the time, Gwyn had felt nothing but bloodlust and victory and the joy of the hunt – until Augus had distracted him with memories from the past. Now his head bowed by the lake and he frowned, wishing he could undo some of his actions.

He stayed until he started to get cold, made his way back to the fire, feeling a little stronger. He sat cross-legged, as Kabiri had, looked up at the stars. It took him minutes to stretch his neck enough to manage it, but he needed to keep the muscles around his shoulder as limber as possible. He still couldn’t feel his right hand properly. He hoped that would come back in time. He had some feeling in his thumb, and he could twitch it. His forearm was strong enough that he could hold it to his chest and take some of the strain off his shoulder.

That was something.

Later, he looked through the clothing covering the fae bodies for supplies. They were all wearing Crielle’s colours. She wasn’t ashamed of announcing that she was after him. Albion had said she was under house arrest, but she obviously either still had access to her soldiers, or she had given them very clear instructions. Why was it her men, and not Albion’s military? Why would Crielle be hunting him in secret?

_She wants to make your life miserable, that’s why. The Seelie Court would never sanction the level of torture she wants to commit._

Gwyn sighed.

One of the soldiers was wearing a pack and he found dried rations in there – fruit and jerky – that he started eating immediately, even though it hurt his jaw to work at the tough food. There was a larger knife, a filleting knife for fish, bandages, some rope and twine, fire-making stones, a mug and a bowl carved out of wood, a vial of herbs that lathered like soap or shampoo, a comb, a razor, the clothing itself. He found another small blue ball, which he shattered.  There was no tent and no accompanying materials for a tent like a small axe or hammer, no first aid kit. These soldiers were Court status or higher. They didn’t need such things.

He didn’t feel any compunction stripping the bodies of their supplies; he’d had to do it enough times in the field, looking for items that had been stolen, maps and scrolls, or even just curiosity when he’d been ruined with bloodlust.

He looked at everything he’d acquired, and then looked at the palm of his hand.

Knowing he’d used his light so absently set a pit of horror yawning inside of himself. Because he could still feel its potential, how huge it could be. But even so, he’d used it several times now to kill fae, and each time it hadn’t been a giant ball set on consuming the world, but a very specific type of light that always came back to him.

He needed to start learning how to use it. He had nothing left to lose, and he was close enough to death anyway. Besides, as underfae, perhaps this might be the only chance he’d get to have the light mostly under his control.

‘I don’t want this,’ he whispered.

But when had that ever mattered?

*

Over time he became stronger. He practiced first walking around the circumference of the lake itself, and then slowly started increasing the range of motion in his shoulder. It was hard, and he was often frustrated with himself, with his weak, fragile body. Sometimes so frustrated he would lash out at himself with nails, scratching furrows of anger into his own skin. But he persisted, and soon he almost had complete range of motion back. The feeling still hadn’t quite returned to his two outermost fingers, and he massaged them and the forearm often, because that had helped return the feeling to the rest of his hand.

He forced himself to return to exercises that employed his bodyweight – push ups, sit ups, movements that maintained the strength that he had left. He’d lost musculature, and he could feel how much fitness he’d lost. And with no sword to practice, he could only step through his drills without a weapon conditioning his arms. He hated how it felt, and it often reminded him that Albion had possession of his armour, his sword. He’d fought for both. They were _his._ It didn’t matter what Albion said, he’d visited the Glasera, he’d given of his own blood for them.

Practicing with the light took longer, because even though he knew he needed to do it, he found it difficult to overcome the fear that quaked through him whenever he started to raise his hands to the dead trees nearby and use them for target practice.

The first time he did use his light knowingly, to see what would happen, he ended up sick and balled on his side for hours. He tried to pull himself together several times, but he couldn’t. His rib ached. The whole world felt wrong.

It was never _easy._ But it got easier. The light was easier to control, but he suspected that had more to do with having fed, than being underfae. He could still feel how endless it was inside of him. Augus had called it melodrama, but Gwyn was sure it could wrap itself around the world if it really wanted to. It felt separate to him. Something he housed.

Weeks passed and Gwyn made a small life for himself. It wasn’t safe, or entirely peaceful, or even very satisfying. It wasn’t like living in the middle of thick and healthy forests, on beautiful, idyllic land, stalking fit animals for food. He lived hand to mouth. Once he even caught himself hoping that Crielle would send more soldiers his way, because he was so hungry. He’d spent the day punishing himself with exercise at the thought, which was useless – he knew. It only made him hungrier.

Many Unseelie fae ate other fae, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

More soldiers came a week later. Gwyn sensed them before they saw him, having learned the lay of the land and knowing what noises didn’t belong. He’d hidden behind a copse of dead, leaning trees and then taken them all out with several bolts of light. The first had been the hardest to control, and he was gasping with the force needed to make it behave even as he continued. But he’d fed, and he knew it would sustain him for a little longer.

After that, he would have to start hunting.

He stripped all of the bodies of their supplies and clothing and dragged them to the edge of the land, digging graves for all of them so that they might be returned to the earth. The digging was excruciating – he had no shovel, was using a plate he’d found – but he pushed through it. That evening, his shoulder went into spasm and cramped for half the evening, and when twilight found him he was covered in sweat and insensate, his good hand gripping his bad shoulder hard, moaning softly.

He could withstand pain in the short-term, but he had no way of understanding how to deal with injuries like this. Even the very worst things that had happened to him; he’d always been completely healed within a few weeks.

His fever came back, and he was scared he might die again. But after a couple of days it broke once more, and after that his shoulder seemed weak, but easier to move.

It shocked him that he didn’t really want to die. Or that...he did, but he didn’t want to go like this. As some creature living on Blighted land.

When he really thought about it – and he hardly ever did – he realised a part of him didn’t want to go until he’d seen Augus again.

He tried to forget about him. He knew it was for the best.

But Augus was just as annoying in his thoughts as he could be in reality, and he persisted. It seemed like he made odd comments here and there. Sometimes Gwyn would find himself reluctant to use his light, and he’d remember hands over his eyes, calming him.

More often he remembered Augus rolling his eyes, shaking his head in disdain, and Gwyn would take a deep breath and force himself to use his light anyway.

*

The nights that he was too spent to force himself to step through drills, or exercise; the nights where he knew he needed sleep and was afraid to sleep – they were the hardest. He had grown to dislike gagging himself fiercely and put off sleeping as much as his underfae body would allow him.

It was one evening – he wasn’t sure what day, he’d lost track – that he stared up at the constellations and his good hand rested over his torso. He had a shirt on now; one of the soldiers had been broad enough through the shoulders, and he had enough range of motion that he could manage it. He drummed patterns into his own skin, mentally recited the names of the constellations, going through all the different names they had depending on the race and culture of fae that looked upon them. He knew many languages, it was good to practice.

His eyes were wet, leaking. He’d been hounded by a relentless heaviness all day. It had struck like a hammer into his heart, left him wounded. He still didn’t know exactly what it was – only that it was connected to Augus, that he missed him.

He thought about how horrified Augus was that Gwyn didn’t touch himself more often, with gentleness or care.

_‘You are capable of so much pleasure. It is not only that you are barely touched and therefore starved for it, but also that you are simply_ _sensitive._ _It is a crime that you don’t explore yourself.’_

Gwyn breathed in sharply through his nose, closed his eyes and trailed his hand down until it was resting on his upper thigh. His brow furrowed.

He _missed_ Augus, and perhaps...if he did this...

But his hand and arm tensed, and he opened his eyes in frustration and stared up at the blurred stars, shaking his head.

He just couldn’t.

Perhaps if he was filled with lust and had a quick, mindless minute to distract himself.

But he couldn’t touch himself the way Augus had touched him.

His hand moved back up to rest on his ribs, and he dug his fingers in slightly. There were things he wanted to be able to do, that he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to do. It was just the way things were. It was a miracle he was even able to use – let alone practice using – his light. But exploring himself the way Augus wanted him to? He needed compulsions. He needed...

‘Augus,’ Gwyn whispered, ‘I hope you’re well.’

Once he started, he couldn’t stop, and he spent the rest of the evening sending out small sentences into the bleak world around him. He felt closer to Augus somehow, living on the land that had been marked so clearly by him; even if it was marked with such destruction.

‘I must apologise, I think, for the Soulbond. I knew you didn’t want to do it. I knew you wouldn’t want to. It was likely the wrong thing to do. I have never been very good at the right thing. Crielle used to say that...well, I suppose you don’t want to hear that.’

He closed his eyes and turned his head to the side, feeling the beat of his heart inside his chest.

‘How did you do it for three thousand years without more _scars?_ Even your shoulder didn’t end up scarring. Mine is a mess. And my arm where I’ve used the light...even that is...not the same now.’

Eventually he was left with simple statements that hurt, but he couldn’t help but say them.

‘I miss you.’

And then with a twinge:

‘I hope you don’t think on me with contempt.’

A name that echoed in his head countless times every day:

‘Augus...’

He laughed quietly, because he was becoming foolish now.

‘Sweetness.’

Gwyn took a deep breath and fisted his hand over his sternum.

‘Anam cara.’

Words he didn’t think he’d ever get to use, and he never thought – not ever – that he would have cause to use them for an Unseelie, predatory waterhorse like the Each Uisge. Even when he was a child he used to be filled with fear reading fae tales about his other incarnations by candlelight, turning pages hunched over a straight-backed chair, eyes wide at the Each Uisge’s exploits.

Gwyn offered a shy, nervous smile out into the world. He felt the beating of his own heart and pretended it was the slower thump of Augus’. He couldn’t remember ever allowing himself to indulge like this, and even though it hurt – hurt terribly – he couldn’t help himself. It gave him something, somehow, to think of Augus like this.

‘My dear, dear heart.’

After that, he couldn’t think of anything else to say. He was – geographically at least – so close to Augus. But the reality was that he didn’t think he’d see him again. It was hard to love someone, knowing they likely hated you. Ash had said that Augus didn’t want to have anything to do with him. Gwyn would respect that.

But it was hard.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, 'Faith:'
> 
> ‘Augus,’ Ash said, something oddly careful in his voice, ‘you collapsed from exhaustion, and you’re _Inner Court_ now.’


	41. Faith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty, here's chapter 40. Only 4 chapters to go! (I think). 
> 
> As some of you know, there will be a sequel, title to be announced after chapter 42. :D Excited to bring you this chapter, for many reasons.
> 
> *
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has or will kudos, comment, read, find me on Tumblr, or lurk and enjoy or love what they're reading (if you hate this, I'm so sorry, find something you enjoy) -> you folks are the best, and you're the reason I think I can write (while I figure out how to believe in myself). <3

Augus’ life had become a blur – invisibility, teleportation through lakes, exhaustion, the aching jaw that came from chronically clenching his teeth together as he forced himself past despair, exhaustion, sadness.

Gulvi hadn’t attacked him again, though for the next week after he’d reminded her of the past she’d looked like she very much wanted to. He didn’t even have the energy to snark at her. When he saw her in the Court, it was usually in the process of walking by her to the lake to teleport away again, or to get fresh clothing.

Ash tried often to make him stop and rest. Once, he’d grabbed Augus and dragged him back into the water, teleporting them both into the human world on a ride filled with turbulence.

‘You will _hunt,’_ Ash had snarled at him. ‘As your King, I command you.’

‘That’s reprehensible,’ Augus said in disgust, but the scent of humans nearby had driven his bloodlust so high that he was feeding within half an hour, making himself sick on poor quality prey and hardly caring.

He’d forced himself back to his search three days later, the worst of the exhaustion having abated. The nausea was thick and relentless within him, but he managed.

At one point, in the middle of a field, no scent of Gwyn in the air, Augus had roared in frustration:

‘I swear by all the gods, if I find you, I’m going to _make_ you pay for this!’

He’d ended up laughing at himself as he trudged back to the lake he’d emerged from. He was written in both the human and fae books as a terrible creature, had been for more than one lifetime. He was feared even amongst many Unseelie fae, long before he’d ever been King. Here he was, throwing a tantrum and a few seconds away from stomping his feet against the ground and about as far away from frightening as he’d ever been. He’d certainly make Gwyn pay for _that._

*

He refused to call it despair, the awful thing that crept around inside of him, tasted like mucous in the back of his throat. He _refused._ But it made his steps heavier sometimes, it made him more taciturn, reluctant to respond to queries from Ash or Gulvi, even when he could think of perfect retorts.

Days turned into weeks, turned into almost two months, and both the Seelie Court and Unseelie Court hadn’t discovered Gwyn ap Nudd.

Classless fae were predisposed to living solitary lives. If Gwyn lived, it was entirely possible that Augus would go the rest of his life without ever seeing him again. He would never believe that Augus loved him, he would spend the rest of his days hidden away and living out lies of hatred that his parents had forced upon him. That was intolerable.

Augus wanted to leave a more indelible mark upon Gwyn than that. 

The fae world reacted to Gwyn’s true alignment in ways that Augus had foreseen, ways that he hadn’t. The Seelie fae saw him – for the most part – as a liar, a licgancer and treasoner. His soldiers had turned against him, but they were Seelie, and so had kept Gwyn’s other secrets for him. As far as Augus knew, none of those soldiers had spread the truth of Gwyn’s poor habit of getting so drunk he would turn himself into a ragdoll fucktoy for other’s amusement.

That was so like the Seelie fae – they hated lying enough to turn against someone who had been good to them, but they were _honourable_ enough to keep that person’s secrets anyway.

Augus had expected more fury from the Unseelie fae, but there was an odd sense of awe that was circulating in their eldritch world. He wasn’t technically allowed to listen in on the meetings that Gulvi and Ash would both have with visiting Unseelie fae, but in the moments he wasn’t looking for Gwyn, he would eavesdrop freely and without compunction, grateful to the invisibility for being so complete.

Some thought Gwyn had become King on purpose, and that rumour was spreading so fast it was becoming far more resonant amongst the general populace than the opinions of those Unseelie fae who spoke out against him, who hated him for attacking and killing his own kind. They were in the minority. After all, there were Unseelie fae who attacked and killed and ate their own kind – it wasn’t _that_ unusual. The Unseelie fae were more aware of Gwyn’s reputation than even the Seelie fae, since they were the ones who – for the most part – had been fighting him off for three thousand years. His name inspired just as much awe and terror amongst fae, as Augus’ own name did amongst some human circles.

And fear could inspire rejection, but sometimes – and oddly, _this_ time – it inspired respect.

It turned out that Augus wasn’t the only one that wanted to possess the commodity that was Gwyn ap Nudd and his reputation. Augus was rather glad he’d staked his claim first.

It made the whole situation even more infuriating. Because if Gwyn had come to the Unseelie Court for asylum, he’d have likely have more support than he’d ever known in the Seelie Court. Genuine support, not just insipid Court simpering. Yes, there would be some of that too, but Unseelie fae were predators. Even the pacifists were predators of a sort. They had talons and claws and fangs and were more likely to be honest than not. They cared less for honour and duty, more for their families and their own skins.

News of a strange, impossible Soulbond between Ash and Augus was circulating, but that spread more slowly than the knowledge that Augus was back in the Unseelie Court.

Even though he was shielded from it, the hate came, as Augus expected. What he hadn’t expected was for so many Unseelie fae to speculate what role Gwyn had in such a release. He’d laughed under the cloak of invisibility when an underfae had enthusiastically asserted that Augus had clearly been rendered some kind of pet to the mysterious, powerful Unseelie fae that had lorded it over the Seelie Court. After all, Gwyn was the one who had defeated him, wasn’t he? So the rumours went.

The current Unseelie Court had very little favour amongst the Unseelie fae. Augus had laid the foundations for that, but Gulvi and Ash were not suited to what they were doing without an Inner Court to advise them. The fact was, they had no _Court_ at all. The throne-room should have been buzzing on a daily basis with Court and Outer Court faces, with gossip and news, but the noble families had deserted. It was an abandoned place, even more hostile because of it.

The general attitude amongst the fae was still one of great favour towards Ash, but fae mostly pitied him, saw him as a trapped thing, not a King in his own right. Augus would feel like defending his brother if he didn’t feel exactly the same way.

He had ideas of how he’d rebuild the Court, but they were impossible ideas.

But his world seemed to be built upon the impossible. He hadn’t thought he would see Ash again. He was sure that he was going to be defeated when he was demoted to underfae. In fact, he was sure he wouldn’t survive the drop down – demotion still held the honour of being among the worst pain he’d ever experienced, and that was saying something, because the man of shadows had been creative, and shadow possession was _excruciating_.

He was alive, as free as he was likely ever going to be. Soulbonds had come back in his lifetime, for personal reasons, no less. Then there was the impossibility of his feelings for Gwyn. He’d long given up hoping they’d go away.

*

Ash had come to him on one of the afternoons that Augus couldn’t bring himself to search aimlessly, the invisibility a burden he needed and loathed carrying inside himself. Ash had presented a small box carved of silvery wood that, when opened, contained a glowing piece of granite. The grey brown of it had shone silver when Augus had touched it. He looked up at Ash in surprise.

‘Borrowed energy,’ Ash said. ‘I know you won’t use your own at the moment – but your lake, I’ve made it as safe as I can, hey. And the thing about being King is that, even with this fucking shambles of a Court, I can still call in some old favours. Actually that’s got nothing to do with being King. Some people just owe me favours. So...do you know what this does?’

‘Of course,’ Augus breathed.

‘Start using it,’ Ash said, squeezing his shoulder. ‘I’m not telling you to stop looking, just...start doing this too. You need a home, anyone with half a brain can see that. Go make that lake your own.’

The granite stone was a store of home-building energy, so that Augus could shape his new home underwater in the lake that Ash had chosen, without pulling from his own drained resources. It gave him something else to do when he was trying to gather his thoughts, it was a way to escape the Unseelie Court without being unsafe. Augus saw how much Ash was trying to make things easier on him and his heart swelled at the thought of it. He was supposed to be making things okay for Ash, if he could just find Gwyn first...

Was it thoughts of Gwyn that shaped the open plan, airy space his second underwater home became? He tried not to think about it.

He chose huge vaulted ceilings, giant circular spaces and white walls with exposed golden beams, golden, gleaming planks of wood on the floor. The furniture curved itself into the walls: bookshelves and chests of drawers and a walk-in wardrobe that was generous as it had to be. There was still the hallway reaching off to the right that he’d always had, leading to other rooms. Guest rooms, client rooms, Ash’s room.

But his own master bedroom was no longer tucked at the very end of a hallway, hidden from all. He offset it back from the living area, an extension of wall shielding the generously proportioned bed from those who entered. The sheets, blankets, rugs, soft furnishings were fine, high quality, but they were natural fibres. Augus had become accustomed to cotton and wool of high grade, he’d become used to linens and the feeling of buckskin under his fingers. He used water-wicking fabric where he could, but there was less than he’d had in his previous home.

The large, arched stained glass windows of blues and greens catered to the murky beast inside of him. Using a significant chunk of the granite’s stored energy, he lit the werelights. A golden-white glow inside, and bluer, eerier lights outside that lit the stained glass and cast dancing watery lights upon the floor so that even while standing on two feet, Augus could remember the lake around him.

It was in small moments, often on the way back from a long day searching for Gwyn, that he spent an hour or two making the place into something that would service as a home. He couldn’t spare much of his life energy to the ecosystem of the lake itself, but he trusted in the lake itself, it was doing well enough.

Slowly, he started reconstructing a first aid kit, medicinal supplies. He stole what he could from the Unseelie Court, since he didn’t have the time to make his own salves and concoctions.

The moment he’d spent all the energy of the granite, however, he didn’t go back to the home again. He resolved that he wouldn’t until he knew one way or another what had happened to Gwyn.

It seemed like the right decision.

*

He was hand-washing a shirt in a rushing river contained in the Unseelie Court. There were only a handful of servants about the place, and none of them wanted anything to do with Augus. It was a good thing he knew how to look after himself. He found that he missed the trows and their unwavering, gentle service. Even though they’d been Seelie and known full well that Augus was an Unseelie prisoner who had committed great destruction, they had treated him with a careful respect. Eventually, there were even those two who treated him with friendliness.

He’d never really expected to be treated like that again by anyone.

He stiffened when he felt a rush of cold wind behind him – Gulvi teleporting nearby. He looked over his shoulder at her, schooling his expression to blankness. Things had been strange between them since he’d related the murder of the Chevalier twins to her. She hadn’t stabbed him again, but he’d crossed a line, he expected _something_. It put him on edge that she hadn’t retaliated.

‘You have more than a hundred shirts in that wardrobe of yours,’ Gulvi said, curious. ‘Why are you washing this one?’

‘Because it’s dirty,’ Augus said, thinking she’d lost her mind. ‘I wouldn’t have more than a hundred shirts if I simply discarded each one after it was dirty.’

‘Aren’t you desperate to find your lover? Souring on the whole pathetic quest of it?’

Augus blew out a slow exhale as he turned his shirt in the dim light, looking for the stain he’d been working at. He couldn’t see it, but he covered it once more in the herbal mixture that allowed water to penetrate the water-wicking fabric and scrubbed it a last time, hedging. He wasn’t sure what to say.

Words weren’t coming together in his mind. He was dizzy with exhaustion.

Gulvi crouched beside him. Augus resisted the urge to move away. He didn’t like being within her reach. It made him want to lash out. He was certain she felt the same way.

‘Marshalling my thoughts,’ Augus said finally. ‘And you? Are you looking for him?’

‘La! No, I think he’s dead. I cannot imagine many fae less well-equipped to dealing with being underfae. Can you?’

‘He’ll manage,’ Augus said, his voice stiff. ‘He’s survived worse.’

‘Faith? From you?’ Her laugh was bell-like. ‘What would it mean if he were dead? Tell me.’

Augus wrung out the shirt with quick, sharp movements and then shook it out, so that the material slapped out his displeasure. He lay it on the ground beside him, glared.

‘He was a soldier, wasn’t he? He knows how to camp, how to hunt, how to make shelter. He knows how to track and to evade his enemies, he knows-’

‘He has the might of the Seelie Kingdom upon him,’ Gulvi said calmly, her eyes unreadable, ‘and he is underfae.’

‘I have to keep looking,’ Augus said, beginning to step into the water, preparing to teleport away.

Gulvi stood immediately. Augus paused, wary.

‘Do you have a system? Anything? How are you doing it? Do not tell me that you are just going from place to place and what... _hoping?’_

Augus’ teeth ground together, and Gulvi looked upwards, a derision so vast landing upon her face that he almost envied the expression, were it not directed at him.

‘Love does not conquer all, fool,’ Gulvi said, smiling at him sweetly. ‘It doesn’t conquer anything at all. I thought you had the capacity to be wise. The Raven Prince once said you could rule. But I suppose everyone makes mistakes, even my once-liege.’

‘I had a system, it failed rather early. Going to his cabins, the old family estate, the-’

‘ _Think,’_ Gulvi hissed. ‘If, _if_ he’s alive, he’s canny. Not only that, but think of his habits as a war General.’

Augus wasn’t sure what she was referring to. He knew some of Gwyn’s habits from research, but outside of that short battle at the primary school, he’d never actually seen Gwyn on the battlefield. It wasn’t his milieu. Gulvi’s eyes widened and her wings flared.

‘Darling, if you don’t know him as a soldier, you don’t really _know_ him at all, do you?’

Augus smirked. He rather thought that he knew Gwyn quite well. Gulvi shrugged a wing.

‘What a _large_ part of the picture you’re missing, darling. Gwyn’s habits as a soldier, as a General, do you wish to hear them? He prefers unlucky, _cursed_ land. Gwyn has never believed in good fate or fortune and forbade anyone from wishing him luck before a battle. He rejected it _all_. He courted the unsavoury places. If he had a choice, he angled entire fae battalions towards unlucky land, knowing how we all feel about those places that have been cursed with poor luck. He cared not at all for the places that were cursed to bring sickness, pain, fear, terror.

‘If he’s alive, he needs land, and food, and water. I can think of quite a few landscapes with fresh lakes that are considered recently cursed. La! My dear, can you?’

Her eyes were hard.

‘In fact, I do believe my family used to occupy one of those regions.’

Augus’ mouth went dry. His vision blurred. _Blighted land?_

‘There’s nothing to eat there,’ Augus said, absently. ‘There’s...’

Even _he_ didn’t go back to the Blighted land. It felt _awful._ There was something about what he’d done when he’d scoured out those landscapes in minutes or hours or days or weeks, that made him feel ill. He didn’t think it was superstition to call that land cursed.

‘How do you know this?’ Augus said, clearing his throat when he realised how thready his voice had become. Gulvi had tilted his head at him.

‘And why are you reacting like this? Do you not like what you did? Let me guess, does the idea of destroying the _land_ hurt you more than destroying the _fae?’_

Gulvi made a face of disgust at him, fingers twitching by the hilt of her knives.

‘I _know,_ because I know what Gwyn is like as a soldier. But Gwyn is _dead._ And you should let him go while you can. You only hurt your brother with this fool’s errand you’ve assigned yourself. You-’

‘He looked for your sister when you gave her up for dead. I owe him that much.’

‘Sometimes I think I might choke the life out of you and enjoy it more than gutting you with my knives, and that’s not like me at all,’ Gulvi said, weary. Her fingers splayed by her side. ‘Keep bringing up my sister, Augus. _Oui_ , please.’

Augus returned her gaze steadily. It gave him something to concentrate on. He didn’t want to visit that land again. Not ever. To this day, he wasn’t entirely sure what he’d been trying to achieve, and he took it as a personal sign of how far he’d fallen that the Blighted land even existed. It was a physical sign of how deeply into madness he’d descended. He’d spent all his life trying to bring life to wetlands, only to destroy tracts of land in moments. He’d undone his purpose. It was as though he’d scratched the surface of what he was _sure_ he was, only to discover a wide maw of death and bleakness beneath it.

He brought death to humans, but he _wasn’t_ death. He _wasn’t._ And then he’d done _that._ He hadn’t known what he was anymore.

He blinked rapidly when she snapped fingers in front of his face. She was closer. He’d blanked out, he’d been doing it more in the Unseelie Court. He used to do it frequently, back when the Nightmare King still occupied it.

‘Did he love you?’ Gulvi said, changing the subject.

‘He _does,’_ Augus said, hating that she was already using past tense. There was a light in her eye that suggested she was doing it to goad him.

‘Then why did he not come to you?’

‘Because,’ Augus laughed, ‘because he is underfae, and he believes that once freed from imprisonment, I would view him as a rapist and a monster. He would not bring himself – at his _most_ vulnerable – to the one he expects punishment from. If you know him so well, surely you know how damaged he is? No? Did that never really come up when you were being soldiers on opposite sides? I didn’t think so.’

Augus raised a hand to drag it through his hair to calm himself, and then froze when Gulvi’s eyes widened. Did she recognise the gesture? Had Ash done it in front of her? Explained why waterhorses did it? His arm dropped.

His vision swam in front of him, he planted his feet. He needed to get out of there. He was unwell, perhaps more than he’d realised.

‘Blighted land, you say? Well, Your Majesty, perhaps I shall-’

‘Wait,’ Gulvi said, holding up a hand. ‘You never answered my question. What would it mean if he were dead?’

Augus closed his eyes, too tired to even know how to begin answering her. There were small green lights firing off behind his eyelids. They were pretty and he watched them, distracted. A moment later he was down on his knees, landing with a heavy, wet thud by his shirt. His eyes opened and he placed a hand down to brace himself.

‘Ah,’ he said, quiet. ‘I think-’

‘Ash is going to _murder_ you,’ Gulvi said, her voice a promise. She disappeared in a whirl of wind, and Augus brought his other arm forward to brace himself. He was shaking badly. He had enough energy left to laugh.

‘Can you both stop threatening to kill me and just follow through on it for a change? That would be...that would be...’

He gasped softly and lowered his forehead to the ground.

_Damn it._

Ash wasn’t going to kill him, but he wasn’t going to be happy.

Augus collapsed in slow-motion, enough energy to catch himself at every step on the way down, but not enough to stop it from coming. Was it the invisibility that was draining him so much?

He was supposed to be looking for Gwyn.

‘Just wait for me,’ Augus gasped. ‘Just _wait.’_

*

He woke surrounded by cushions, pillows and blankets, a warm body alongside his. He knew the smell of his brother, even though it was another person’s name on his lips, and he moved in closer without thinking. The arm around him tightened, and Augus murmured something, but didn’t have the presence of mind to know what it was. A minute later he tried to ease out of Ash’s grip, but Ash didn’t let him go.

He sagged, and the arms tightened as though to catch him. A broad hand stroked his shoulder, blunt fingertips dragging down tense muscles until his breathing slowed and he thought he could fall asleep. But he couldn’t afford sleep. He needed to be out there, looking. He tensed, and Ash’s arms tensed with him. Augus knew Ash would make it difficult for him to get up.

‘Brother,’ Augus whispered.

‘Augus,’ Ash said, something oddly careful in his voice, ‘you collapsed from exhaustion, and you’re _Inner Court_ now.’

‘I’ve rested,’ Augus said. He felt rested. He was wasting time. He couldn’t keep asking Gwyn to wait for him and then waste time like this.

‘Augus, I’m _worried_ about you. Really. Fucking. Worried.’

Augus’ brow furrowed when he found himself shaken lightly. He bared his teeth in a snarl and pushed himself forcefully out of Ash’s grip and glared at him. He suspected the force of the glare was likely diluted by the tiredness still on his face, because Ash didn’t do anything but glare back.

‘I’m not a child,’ Augus said.

‘Then how about you stop fucking acting like one?’

‘Oh,’ Augus glared at him. He slid off the bed and stretched. ‘Insult me some more, Ash. It’s _very_ helpful.’

‘You are going to drive me insane,’ Ash muttered under his breath, and Augus raised his eyebrows.

‘Now, now, Ash, one of us being driven insane is plenty, don’t you think?’

‘Yeah, you got that right. Because everything you’ve been doing lately? Fucking mental. Look, Augus, you-’

‘-He did it,’ Augus said, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. ‘Are you aware that he did it? He went on these stupid, idiotic, _futile_ searches to liberate fae that he’d never even heard of, just because...just to see if he _could._ And I’m not wrong, brother. He would be an asset to this Court. He is practically twisted up around my little finger, and he _has_ scrolls, maps and strategies memorised. If I could get him here and let him know he’s safe, he would yield so much that we could use in rebuilding the Court.’

Ash shrugged.

‘Or you’ll find him lying in a ditch somewhere. If you’re lucky.’

‘Is that the attitude I should have embraced when we were both starving to death and there was _nothing_ to eat around our lake in the winters of our childhood? Is it, Ash? Really? Because it was tempting, it was _so_ tempting to simply lie down at the bottom of that lake and let everything go and give it up to the next Each Uisge. There were times, _weeks,_ when my bones ached and I could feel every tired thump of my heart, and I kept looking for something to feed us, to feed you! Should I have just given up because it was hard? I wish I’d known that, it would have saved me so much effort.’

Ash blew out air between gritted teeth, and in that moment, with his narrowed eyes and hands on his hips, Augus saw the similarities between them. Sometimes they were easy to miss, other times it was clear they’d grown up together in close quarters. Ash was so quick to smile it was easy to miss how like Augus he could be when he was angry.

‘Firstly, Gwyn is not your fucking _brother,’_ Ash said, and then his eyes closed. ‘Secondly, you’re just-’

‘He’s my lover,’ Augus said, feeling like he was going to be having this conversation with Ash for a long time. ‘And I’m not giving up. I’m tired because of the invisibility I have to use, which I _have_ to use because I now have literal responsibility over your life in a way that I didn’t, a short time ago. If you want to start pointing fingers, ask me again how happy I am about this Soulbond?’

They stared at each other on opposite sides of the bed. Ash’s brows had twisted up and together, his lips twisted into a frown that didn’t suit him. He looked like he was ready to keep fighting, but Augus had to somehow find the strength to go back to the Blighted landscapes that he’d destroyed, and he didn’t want to _see_ them.

‘Gulvi fetched you?’ Augus said, frowning.

‘What? Oh, yeah. She was...I dunno, worried. Or maybe she just didn’t want to deal with the consequences of walking away from you when you were like that, and me finding out that she’d done that later. I would’ve been pissed.’

Augus’ lips tilted into a half-smile, but he turned the information over. Gulvi was behaving strangely towards him. Was it the story he’d told? Was it the fact that he was turning himself inside out looking for Gwyn? Something else? It wouldn’t last, at any rate. He could see the tension and hatred in her body every time they spoke.

‘She said you seemed upset about visiting Blighted land. Is that true?’

Augus rolled his eyes, unhappy. Those two, Gulvi and Ash, thick as thieves.

‘It _is_ true,’ Ash said, sounding perplexed. ‘But I thought...’

‘Shut up,’ Augus said, losing patience. ‘I don’t want to talk about it. It would be nice if this supposed freedom I had could actually be some kind of _freedom._ Because at this rate, I think I was doing better in the Seelie Court, brother. You hound me about every little thing, and I’m starting to think that-’

‘Okay,’ Ash said quickly, his eyes widening. He stepped back, looking like he’d only just realised that he’d been blocking the exit. He took another couple of steps back. ‘Okay, sure, fine. You want to go, you go.’

‘ _Thank_ you, Your Majesty,’ Augus said coldly, as he walked around the bed and passed him. He stilled when Ash grabbed his wrist.

‘I don’t know if it’s a relief or not that you’re just as petty as you used to be, once upon a time. Do you remember before, with the Nightmare King? You were all smiles. Trying to convince me everything was okay. Now you’re just a bitch. Like the old days.’

Augus snapped his eyes up to Ash’s, ready to retaliate, only to see a gentle, apologetic expression on his face.

‘I’m not your enemy,’ Ash said cautiously. ‘I don’t know how to be around you sometimes, and I don’t know what to say, but that doesn’t make me your enemy. Okay? I’m your brother. I just want you to be okay.’

Augus winced, and Ash smiled at him, a disarming gesture that made his eyes twinkle. It automatically soothed the tension in Augus’ chest. He hated how quickly Ash could do that.

‘Fuck you and your charm,’ Augus muttered.

‘Yep, I know. I’m the worst, Augus. Look at me, giving a shit about you.’

‘Then wish me luck, because the sooner I find him, the sooner this will be done.’

Ash’s hand twitched, then loosened until he could trail his fingers up the side of Augus’ arm, his eyes hooded with a soft resentment. Eventually that eased into a neutral expression, and Ash sighed.

‘I don’t think you’ll need luck. Anyone only needs to take one look at you to see that you’re bent on making your own.’

Augus offered him a faint smile at that. Ash pulled him in close for a quick, one-armed hug.

‘We make our own way, we’ve always made our own way. I’ll wait up for you, because apparently I fret now.’

Augus returned the embrace with both of his arms, breathing in the scent of home, wishing it was enough to allay the uneasiness he felt. Eventually he decided he was being weak-willed, and withdrew, forcing himself to walk back to the lake. He could do this.

It amused him, that he found this far harder than visiting the land Gwyn had destroyed. Perhaps he should have had more appreciation for how Gwyn felt about what he’d rendered with his light.

_Perhaps you should find him first._

*

The first patch of Blighted land he visited had belonged to several Seelie and Unseelie families. It was a series of lakes connected by creeks and streams. The water lived – in the most token of ways – but the land around it was dead. He dragged himself out of the water and stood, looking around, trying not to think about anything at all.

_You don’t hate yourself for harming the fae. You never would. But the madness? It’s_ beneath _you, isn’t it? To be driven to such a state? How unbearable it must be, that you were driven so_ low.

‘Shut up,’ Augus whispered.

How insulting it had been that Gwyn had seen so clearly through it all to the places Augus tried not to see. How Gwyn – of all people – stupid, dense Gwyn who couldn’t understand other people if they showed him a smidgeon of care, could see _that._

No signs of life, no scent of Gwyn, and he remembered the fae families he’d damaged and then destroyed by coming here and Blighting the land.

But even standing here, he could hardly remember his motives. Only the terrible force of darkness that had pulsed behind his eyelids, the emptiness he’d felt when he’d stuck his hands into the land and done...what he’d done. The first time he’d done it, he’d thrown up afterwards, hadn’t he?

Some terrifying villain he was.

His breathing was coming faster and he forced it to slow down.

He couldn’t look at this land and remember who he was.

_What if – you arrogant waterhorse – your life-force wasn’t water and wetlands and life as you’d always assumed? What if it was this all along?_

Augus closed his eyes, pressed the back of his hand to his forehead.

The fact was most Unseelie fae did not harbour a core of emptiness or death within themselves. Even Gwyn, who fed on death itself, harboured a core of light. Makara had the core of the Ganges river living inside of himself, and the Nain Rouge was the soul of the subterranean dark.

But he’d done this so easily, without knowing why.

He made a short, sharp sound in his throat, forced himself back into the water. He had to do this again, and again and again and again, until he found Gwyn or exhausted the Blighted landscapes that he’d affected.

It was with a hollow heart that Augus forced himself to the next location.

*

He managed four locations before he had to force himself home. He nearly lost himself teleporting, and, barely enough energy to be more than concerned, gathered concentration to himself to make it back to the Unseelie Court intact. It was only four locations, he’d only been gone for a day.

He swam to the lake’s edge and then sat down with his feet in the water. One leg bent so that he could rest his elbow on that, and his head in his hand. He took deep breaths. There weren’t _that_ many locations that he’d Blighted. But to only visit _four..._

Perhaps it was futile.

Ash found him hours later. Augus startled to feel a hand on his shoulder, and then laughed under his breath. It had become so easy to find a comfortable position in the Seelie cell, and then just maintain it for as long as it was comfortable. He’d passed hours like that, once even a couple of days.

‘Did you find him?’ Ash said, his voice heavy, sympathetic.

That was when Augus realised how he must have looked.

He shook his head. When Ash sat next to him he found himself wanting to lean into his brother’s weight. As though able to read his mind, Ash had an arm around his back and was tugging him in. That was even better. That way, Augus could pretend he wasn’t interested, and then lean gratefully into a shirt that absorbed the water instead of repelling it. Augus sighed softly. Ash had always been attracted to human clothing.

‘It’s the land, isn’t it?’ Ash said, keeping his voice quiet.

Augus lifted a hand in a gesture to indicate that he didn’t really know.

But they both knew what that meant.

‘Why are you putting yourself through this for him? After all that he’s done to you? To us?’

Augus placed his fingers on Ash’s forearm carefully, too weary to offer anything other than the truth.

‘I have spent my entire life waiting for someone other than you to see in me something that I could not see in myself. And I see something in him that others do not see. And that is the only truth I know, when it comes to him. Should I judge him based on his betrayals, when I know him to be as Unseelie as any one of us? Should I look at him superficially, judge him for being a captor, when it was obvious that he was more a captive than I ever was? You don’t know him as I do, Ash. He is complex. A lost boy and a fierce man and a beast and an idiot. If you could just _try_ to understand that he is not he is not like the man of shadows at all, I would be grateful.’

‘Yeah,’ Ash said, pensive. ‘Okay. I’ll try.’

‘Truly?’

‘Whatever,’ Ash sounded tired. ‘I guess. But what’s going on with the land stuff? Talk to me.’

Augus moved his foot in the water, the lake surface rippling abruptly in response. He didn’t want to talk about this, but he might have to. He’d never had a reason to around Gwyn, and he thought perhaps Ash would understand. He was a waterhorse too.

‘It puts me in this strange position of doubt, Ash. To stand there, see how terribly empty and lifeless the land is after I have spent my life possibly deluding myself into thinking that I am a creature of ecosystems and lakes, of-’

‘You are though,’ Ash said quickly. ‘That’s what you are. That Blighted land isn’t you.’

‘You don’t understand, Ash,’ Augus said, sighing.

‘No, _you_ don’t understand. I have something you have to see. Come on, stand up.’

Augus was tugged upright, stumbled to stiff feet. Ash dragged him away from the lake, a heavy hand around his upper arm.

‘You let that _monster_ too far into you, and you can talk like you used to, but you’re not the way you used to be. And you can go on and on about how you’re not ever gonna be the same again, or some shit, and I know, I _know_ that’s true. But I’ll be damned if I let you think that all these...symptoms of what happened to you, are actually who you are on the inside. Jesus, I can’t think of anything worse. You were already a champion at moping, now you’re going to become some moping champion of the fae world. I mean, _seriously_.’

Retorts weren’t waiting on Augus’ tongue. Instead of annoyance at what Ash was saying, he found himself too apathetic to care one way or another. He let himself be pulled along, for it was a change in the scenery, even if – between this and the blighted land – he was being worn down by what he was seeing around him. That was when he realised that even with rest, even with the status raise, he was still so tired. He remembered being bowed over himself with Gwyn in a room, remembered the desolation that had plagued him then.

_‘I’m so tired, Gwyn. What do you make of that?’_

Had it ever truly gone away?

Yes, he realised dully, it had. Of course it had. Was it possible to miss the horribly abrasive Seelie Court? It seemed it was.

And Augus already knew it was possible to miss the calluses of someone’s hands. That it was possible to miss the musky smell where shoulder met neck, or a light-blond ringlet that was still damp with sweat. In those moments when Gwyn had pressed closed lips against Augus’ mouth and trembled, in those moments, Augus had forgotten his weariness and felt renewed, almost as he did before he’d ever met the man of shadows.

He stumbled and laughed, and Ash made a sound of inquiry.

‘I’m heartsick,’ Augus said, surprised.

Ash mumbled something that could have been a ‘fucking hell’ under his breath, continued steering Augus through the warren that was the Unseelie Court.

They were moving deeper underground. They’d travelled down spiralling stone steps cut into the walls. Here it was damp and almost completely dark, lit only by torches that flickered a cold, unfeeling blue. Augus perked up in these surroundings, discomfort forcing wakefulness to his steps. Ash’s grip lightened on his arm, but Augus found he wished the grip was tight again. He looked around, his eyes wide. There were only so many places that Ash could be taking Augus, if they were in this part of the Court.

When they took a right turn, instead of a left, Augus baulked.

‘No,’ Augus whispered. ‘You _won’t.’_

‘Hey,’ Ash said, but his grip had tightened on Augus’ arm, and then he brought up his other hand as Augus continued to struggle against his grip. ‘Hey- Fucking- _Trust me.’_

‘No, I’m not going down there again. Not ever. Do you understand me? What do you think I could possibly have to gain from reliving that? Do you think it will give me hope to remember what it was like for me? I didn’t realise you were so petty.’

Augus filled with spite, going still in Ash’s grip and glaring at him.

‘Is that it? Turns out you feel really sour from how I behaved around you for those years after I met the Nightmare King, and now you want to get your revenge? Do you not think you got enough of it when you cornered me and...’

He took a great breath, furious with himself. He couldn’t even _say_ it.

‘Oh boy,’ Ash said, holding him tightly. ‘Oh boy, no, okay? _No._ I have this, remember?’

He let go of Augus long enough to shake the inside of his forearm in front of Augus’ face, showing a blackened mark, sparkling bits of blue caught in the skin.

‘Remember what this is for?’

Augus was breathing quickly, faint, staring at the Soulbond. He stepped away from Ash, yanking his other arm out of his grip, forcing his breathing to calm. He was losing his mind in this Court, _again._ It didn’t seem to matter that the Nightmare King was gone. He was just as paranoid and delusional as he’d once been. When he risked meeting Ash’s eyes, he found a similar expression on his face. Wide eyes, the small frown.

‘Why then?’ Augus rasped. ‘Why take me down there? Why to the place where I was _defeated?’_

Ash dragged a hand through his hair, repeated the gesture, and Augus’ chest twinged. What a mess they both were. None of them had come through any of this unscathed. Augus had gone to such lengths to try and protect his brother, but he’d never guessed that he’d have to protect Ash from himself.

‘Please just fucking trust me?’ Ash said, holding his hand out. ‘Please? I want to show you something. We don’t have to stay long.’

Augus’ lips lifted in a smirk of disbelief. He’d like to see anyone try and make him stay there for longer than a few minutes.

Ash reached out and took Augus’ hand. It was enclosed in Ash’s grip as he squeezed gently. Ash didn’t drag this time, but coaxed, and Augus followed reluctantly. He knew the way  very well, but he was surprised how easily Ash found his way to that underground cavern. He navigated in almost total darkness to get there, not second-guessing any of the twists and turns.

‘You’ve done this since,’ Augus said in some surprise, his voice hushed in the relative darkness. They both had night vision, provided there were still small increments of light to pull upon. But encased by stone and rock, this was almost too close to the complete imprisonment the Nightmare King had introduced him to. His hand was shaking in Ash’s hand. He tried to make conversation to distract himself. He was frightened, he loathed that Ash could smell it on him.

‘I’ve come back a lot,’ Ash said. ‘Well...not at first. No fucking way. But then I was drunk and I missed you and you know how drunken people do stupid things.’

‘Yes, I’ve known you for a very long time,’ Augus said, voice muted.

‘Exactly. So trust me, okay?’  

Augus nodded because he had to. Because it didn’t matter how much he feared being possessed by the shadows, they were gone, and Ash had promised to never do it again. And he’d basically told Ash it was okay, hadn’t he? He’d let him off the hook. He’d told him to do it. But he hadn’t known it would be like that. The look on Ash’s face when it had happened, when the living shadows- When he-

Augus made a strangled noise in his throat, raised a hand to it.

He missed what self-mastery used to give him. When his centre was dominance, he’d ruled himself with an unforgiving iron fist. Now there were these moments before he found self-control. Strange jags where his breathing would be uneven and everyone would know it. Where sounds would slip and his brother might hear them. For he still had the dominance inside of him, but it was no longer central to who he was, it was no longer the heartsong that spilled through him. It was moments like this that he’d become aware of what he’d lost in gaining a new core.

He missed how easy it used to be to hide behind an iron will, a blank expression, a sneer.

But Ash let him have his fearful reactions and didn’t comment. His hand tightened a little, and that was all. There were times Ash seemed to understand exactly what he needed, and he was grateful that now was one of those times.

When Augus caught a glint of golden light from the torches that lit the underground cavern, he stopped, couldn’t see what good would come of this.

‘You made Albion fucking piss his pants. You can handle this,’ Ash said. Augus could hear the unwavering confidence in his smile.

‘He didn’t _actually_ piss his pants,’ Augus said, but he smirked all the same.

‘I bet he did, a little. I bet a little dribble came out.’

Augus laughed, shaking his head. Ash joined in, his robust laugh so strong that Augus thought it would scare the old memories away, shake the claws from his soul. Their hands were squeezing each other now, not for reassurance, but simply in the pleasure of each other’s company. It had always been like this between them.

‘That’ll teach those fuckers to call us _ponies.’_

‘Honestly,’ Augus said, flashing a grin to match Ash’s, ‘did you see their faces? I rather think they’ll not underestimate us again in a hurry.’

‘You are _terrifying,’_ Ash gasped, admiration lighting up his face. ‘It was fucking awesome. Oh my god, how have you been training that up? Do you bust it out against humans every now and then? Jesus, the poor things.’

‘Oh, shut _up.’_

‘Make me,’ Ash said. He shoved him affectionately, and then just like that they were walking towards the glowing entrance ahead of them. Augus took a stuttering breath and looked at Ash briefly. Ash was looking ahead, a faint smile still lingering on his face.

_Calm yourself. It’s over. It’s over and it can’t happen again._

And so his mantra continued as he stepped through the threshold and his breath was stolen from his lungs.

He stared around him, mouth falling open, hand falling from Ash’s grip.

‘There,’ Ash said with quiet satisfaction. ‘Look at that. Look at what you made.’

For all around them in the darkness, without sunlight to sustain it, lived a verdant underwater wetland. It was filled with the cheerful yellow of sunny marsh marigolds, the serious water lilies, the shy pink of bog pimpernel in clusters, as though they couldn’t bear to be parted from one another – they’d always reminded Augus of some furtive pack animal. The loveliness of flowering rush along other reeds and cat-tails.

_‘...How?’_

‘You wouldn’t remember,’ Ash said, his voice roughening. He cleared his throat as Augus stepped into the cavern, staring at the plants.

_Impossible things,_ Augus thought, breathless.

‘When you were dropped down to underfae, you know how it goes...the core powers they...drain from you. Life-force, all of that. Augus, look around you. Isn’t it amazing? What more proof do you need? This is who you are. This is who you’ve always been. You didn’t kill a damned thing when they dropped you to underfae. You brought this infernal place to life. You made it _live.’_

Augus knelt by a small bush of marsh marigold, fluttering his fingers over the shrub, feeling the health that radiated from the happy little plant. The flowers had no sun to turn their head to, yet here they were, flowering.

‘There’s no sunlight. And it was...a year ago,’ Augus said.

‘Exactly,’ Ash said, kneeling beside him. ‘That’s my point. This is you. This is all you. They don’t need the sunlight. They’re getting whatever they need from what was taken from you. When I...when I came down here the first time, I fucking couldn’t believe it. I mean, it had happened at the time – you wouldn’t remember, you were unconscious before you could really see it – but I thought it would all be dead. To see it even better than it was before, still growing, vines hanging from the ceiling and little frogs talking to themselves amongst the plants...I realised I couldn’t give up hope. And it was hard and shitty, but I didn’t.

‘That Blighted land? Yeah, it sucks. Yes, it feels like shit. But that’s not _you._ There’s darkness and destruction and death in you, Augus. There is in me too. We’re _monsters,_ remember? But not...not like you think. How could you forget that? How could you, of all people, forget that?’

But then Ash was standing, growling deep in his torso.

‘I wish I could bring him back and fucking _kill him again.’_

Augus stood up, swallowing a lump in his throat. This place, it wasn’t a safe place. He didn’t know how he felt, seeing this wetland around him. Alive without sunlight. His life-force ripped from him, left to pool in this strange, underground place. He could have died here.

There, by the wall, the place where it had all happened. He stared at it, numbly. He’d been defeated the moment he’d seen Ash with Gulvi, on _Gwyn’s_ side. Everything after that was an excess of action. The shadows. The threats from that empty vessel that had once housed the shadows and still housed some imprint of them still. The demotion.

‘I can’t stay here,’ Augus whispered. ‘I have to- I have to-’

He refused to run, but walked with his shoulders stiff, his head held high. He didn’t stop until he’d left the cavern twenty steps behind him, and was on an eleventh step, his hand out to brace himself on the damp wall.

‘I’m sorry,’ Ash said behind him. ‘I wouldn’t have brought you down here, if I didn’t think it would help.’

_I am made of impossible things,_ Augus thought, looking up the staircase towards more darkness. _Swamps that grow in darkness without the sun to kiss the leaves awake and unfurling. I was born in a lake that had no love for me and demanded my survival. I was given a brother I was never supposed to have. I was an Unseelie King who fell for a Seelie King who wasn’t Seelie._

Augus turned back to Ash, realisation dawning on him.

‘Do you know where Gulvi is?’ Augus said.

‘Uh, yeah, she’s in today. She’s meeting with underfae in the- Hey! Where are you going?’

Augus ran up the steps, taking them two at a time. He forced his tired body to heed him, pulled from the domination that still lived in him even if it didn’t come quite as naturally anymore.

‘So we’re good?’ Ash said, sounding confused.

‘Yes!’ Augus shouted. ‘But I shan’t be going back into that cavern!’

‘Totally cool!’ Ash shouted after him.

Augus made himself run faster. He had to talk to Gulvi. He had to get back to searching.

He had a plan.

*

Two weeks later he stood on Blighted land yet again, running out of places to go, frustrated and pacing the land angrily. His plan required Gwyn to be alive, and Gwyn was confounding him. He refused to let despair back into his heart, but there was rage, bitterness, a desire to lash out at the world with whips and bring it to heel.

Gulvi had been surprisingly open to his suggestions, hardly mocking him at all when he’d started to lay them out carefully in front of her. In the end, he’d stared at her, baffled, and she shrugged her wings at him.

‘ _Quoi?_ You think I’ll turn down something like that? I think not!’ Gulvi said, grinning. ‘I can hate you and see the merits in what you’re saying. I can wish for your pain, your _excruciating_ pain and my darling, believe me, _I do._ But this? I am intrigued. Very intrigued. It sounds like a recipe for chaos, and you know how I adore chaos. Ash though, mm, he’ll not appreciate you for this.’

‘I’m surprised you’re not telling me how _unlikely_ it all is,’ Augus said, raising an eyebrow.

‘I think you _know,’_ Gulvi returned the arched eyebrow, but there was a faint excitement in her gaze.

Augus had left on that note, started searching again immediately.

But the hope that had been lit in his heart was being eroded. Day after day, and he was running out of land and after this, he didn’t know what else to try. He’d have to start continent hopping and he was out of his depth. There was no Mage who could track Gwyn without having him _there_ to lay the tracking spell on him in the first place. The fact was – if he was alive, then he was evading military. And if he was evading military, then he could evade anyone.

There was one more site he had in mind before going back to the Unseelie Court. He looked back at the lake. He was tired. Too tired to visit it now. He could sleep. Perhaps reassess.

But when he stepped into the water, he decided to go to the last site anyway. It was close enough to the Unseelie Court. He winced as he summoned the invisibility to his body, twisted into a spiral in the water, becoming a fast-flowing current, holding onto himself tightly.

He arrived at the new location and struck out upwards, his head breaking the surface. He was swimming towards shore when he scented copper and iron and ozone in the air, twisted in the water so quickly his head spun.

A tent. A drying rack with some kind of meat pinned to it. A fire that wasn’t lit, and Augus’ nostrils flared. He was taking in great lungfuls of air, using his abilities with water to push him fully to the surface of the water without having to move his body.

He stood on the surface of the lake, eyes roving, dripping water, waiting. Watching.

_Sweetness? Where are you?_

There was no fanfare when Gwyn came around the corner of the tent, wearing clothing that didn’t belong to him, sunburnt, holding a dead rabbit in his hands. His left arm had been...burnt perhaps, it looked wounded. Gwyn crouched by a flattened stone, laid the rabbit down, then stood, looking around warily.

Augus’ breath caught in his throat. Could Gwyn sense him? But no, Augus had the invisibility active, his scent was masked.

And Gwyn looked...hunted. _Haunted._

But then that wary expression cleared from his face and he checked the meat drying on the rack, turning his back to Augus.

_He’s alive. He’s...it doesn’t matter how much weight he’s lost, he’s alive. And the little beast has been within practical walking distance from the Unseelie Court all this time. I’m going to kill him with my bare hands._

Augus walked quietly towards the lake bank, barely disturbing the surface of the water. He shed his invisibility, he let his scent roll out from him, and then decided he couldn’t wait for Gwyn to turn around.

‘Well, I declare, I suppose all that hunting and camping and marching around in the field _did_ come in handy after all,’ Augus drawled.

Gwyn whirled around, a raw sound leaving his throat. He dropped the piece of dried meat he’d been holding, stared in disbelief. Augus stopped a distance away, spread his hands, offered what was meant to be a smirk, though he was sure there was far more affection in it than he intended.

Gwyn’s face split with the broadest smile that Augus had ever seen. It was crooked, earnest – wind-dried and sunburned lips matched with the sudden sheen of tears in his eyes.

_See?_ Augus thought, his own heart clenching hard with a feeling he was entirely unfamiliar with. _Impossible things. Your life is made of impossible things._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, 'Anam Cara:' 
> 
> ‘Gwyn,’ Augus said, and then shook his head as though he didn’t have the words for what he wanted to say. He wasn’t used to seeing Augus speechless, waited as Augus slid his hand up from Gwyn’s shoulder into his tangled hair. Fingers plucked at the knots Gwyn hadn’t been able to work out himself, and then Augus’ face twisted briefly, before smoothing again. ‘Gwyn, this is permanent. A healer can’t make this go away. I was thinking that a healer _may_ be able to support the shoulder joint, it’s beyond my milieu. I can help the scar to fade, but I can’t address the damage that’s been done. A healer might.’


	42. Anam Cara

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty, welp, after saying this would be ending at chapter 44 for ages, I've realised I need one more chapter to not squish things together - so er, chapter 45 is the predicted ending! Even so, these chapters are lengthy. Sit down with blankets and cookies and enjoy. 
> 
> *
> 
> A tremendous thank you to everyone who is reading and contributing and commenting and yes, even lurking. I want to smoosh all your faces with the smoosh-powers of love.

Gwyn’s mind scrambled to throw information at him. Fine clothing, the rapier, boots, healthier hair. A higher status – Court or Inner Court. Augus still looked tired, but not like before. His freckles stood out bold on his face, he had been spending time outdoors. Time that Gwyn had deprived him of.

Gwyn swallowed. The initial burst of joy that came with knowing Augus was still alive morphed into apprehension.

Why was he here?

Augus watched him, then his eyes roved around the camp. Did he want the camp? Gwyn had worked hard to defend it. He’d been visited by soldiers – Crielle’s, even some of Albion’s –he knew it was only a matter of time before they raised an army against him. Last time it had been ten soldiers. He’d needed to soak his arm for an entire night in the lake to get the throbbing to become bearable after that.

‘Well, isn’t this something of a reversal, hm?’ Augus said with his soft, cutting voice. Gwyn’s heart-rate galloped. His stance changed automatically. He couldn’t help it anymore. ‘Last I saw you, you were King. And Seelie. Sort of. Now the whole world wants you dead.’

_And you?_

Augus took several steps forward. Gwyn winced as his burned arm raised, his palm outstretched. He was shaking badly, he didn’t want to hurt Augus.

‘Don’t come any closer,’ Gwyn said, glad that his voice stayed strong, cold.

But Augus had always been able to smell fear, his nostrils flared. His eyes went wide and his own palms came up, placating.

‘This already?’ Augus said, but the question didn’t seem like it warranted an answer. Augus’ eyes narrowed at the tent, the drying rack, his lips thinned. ‘Alright. Gwyn, I mean you no harm. None that you don’t want or ask for, anyway. Honestly, I mean _no_ harm. This is because you’re underfae, you understand that, don’t you? You want to defend your home. Trust me, I have _no_ interest in taking it from you. I’d rather not be here at all. I’m tired. I’ve just found you. Lower your hand.’

Augus administering orders and being clear was a relief so profound that Gwyn’s hand dropped to his side. He closed his eyes briefly, caught himself swaying, made himself straighten.

‘Then why are you here?’ Gwyn opened his eyes as Augus cautiously began to walk towards him again.

‘Ah, I’ve been looking forward to explaining this to you, blockhead,’ Augus said, eyes flashing. ‘ _Why_ didn’t you come to us, when you escaped? It was made public knowledge – everyone knows you’re Unseelie. You should have come to us for asylum. We look after our own, remember? But, oh wait, I remember now! That wouldn’t have occurred to you. So, instead, I have been teleporting in and out of what feels like every lake on this fine planet of ours.

‘I have been attacked by fae. I have been chased and hunted, including by the Seelie Court itself. Because, Gwyn, that invisibility you got me is hard work and I am not supposed to be seen a great deal in public. Persona non grata, remember?’

Gwyn shivered, Augus was close enough that he could reach out and touch him. He hadn’t let a person get this close since Kabiri, and that didn’t really count. His shoulder ached, he felt threatened, his heart was beating so fast in his throat that he tried to swallow it back down again.

Augus watched him, head tilted. He reached up and out with a hand, placed his palm flat against Gwyn’s ribs, eyes narrowing. Gwyn couldn’t move, stared at Augus like he could burn him into his eyes and leave a silhouette that would remain for when he woke up. Augus moved his fingers up and down quickly, bumping over Gwyn’s ribs and then back up again, poking the spaces between.

‘You must be starving,’ Augus said softly.

‘I’m always hungry,’ Gwyn admitted.

Another hand to match the first, both causing dampness to blossom on his shirt. Augus’ hands slid around Gwyn’s ribs, he took a final step towards him that made Gwyn forget how to inhale. Augus pressed the side of his face against Gwyn’s good shoulder. Arms looped around his back. Gwyn stared ahead in shock as his senses were flooded with the scent of clear, fresh water, a green, chlorophyll ripeness. He lifted a hand, placed it carefully on Augus’ back.

‘You never let me finish anything I started to say to you before you shoved me out of the Seelie Court,’ Augus said, his voice a breath across his shirt. Fingers tightened on his back, and Gwyn flinched when a little finger trailed too close to the healed stab wound. It didn’t hurt. But it reminded him of the Seelie Court, the throne-room, the look on Albion’s face, his mother’s presence, the _crowd._

‘I once said that what you are might terrify you, but it doesn’t scare me, and I meant that,’ Augus sighed. ‘It doesn’t scare me that you turned to rape when you first had me in those cells, it doesn’t scare me that your light eats up so much of the land because you’re so _greedy._ Do you want sentiment? I have it.I missed you, oaf. There, do you understand those words? I’m not quite sure how to dumb them down any further for you.’

Gwyn felt like his skin had come alive under Augus’ hands. The sensations were more acute than anything he’d felt before, and his heart wasn’t settling down at all. He ducked his head, pressed his forehead to Augus’ shoulder, stole several lungfuls of air. He realised he was snuffling into Augus’ neck when Augus squirmed.

‘Stop that,’ Augus snapped.

‘I’m afraid I can’t,’ Gwyn said, doing it again.

‘I’m _furious_ with you,’ Augus said, and Gwyn stilled. Claw-tips dug into his back, not quite breaking fabric and skin. Gwyn’s light leapt and flared inside of him. He held his breath. Had he fallen into a trap?

‘Are you not always angry with me?’ Gwyn said, hesitant.

‘I thought you were _dead,’_ Augus said, his voice prim and offended. ‘I hope you realise you’re coming back with me. I’m not letting you out of my sight.’

‘Aren’t you?’ Gwyn said, leaning slightly into Augus.

‘Oh, so you missed me too, did you?’ Augus said, warmth curling into his voice.

Augus stepped back and Gwyn’s arm tightened around him for several seconds before he could bring himself to let go. His eyes gathered up as many details as they could. Augus’ right cheek had slightly more freckles than his left. His hair glistened shades of green in the sunlight, like a raven’s feathers refracted blue and violet. He sprouted more waterweed than he used to, his shoulders were broader. There were circles under his eyes. Gwyn wanted to raise his thumbs to them, to stroke them, to ask if Augus was getting enough sleep.

‘Everyone knows,’ Gwyn said, instead. The words were desperate, he hated the fact of his own fear. ‘Everyone knows. Everyone found out.’

‘Yes,’ Augus said, frowning. He lowered his eyes and then looked back up, a depth of empathy shining in the bright green that seemed almost out of place. ‘And you were alone when it happened.’

‘There were many people there,’ Gwyn said. Augus didn’t dignify his response with an answer, changing the subject.

‘You’re so sunburnt,’ Augus said, touching his hand to Gwyn’s unscarred arm, indicating his scarred arm by pointing at the damage. ‘And that, you’ve been using your light?’

_I’ve had no choice._

‘I’ve always gotten burned in the sun,’ Gwyn said, evading the subject. ‘But I used to heal.’

‘I have something for that, I think,’ Augus said, touching the red skin at the back of Gwyn’s wrist. ‘And you’ve been using your light?’

Augus’ fingers deliberately switched wrists, trailed over scar tissue and the cracks in Gwyn’s skin that he hated. He yanked back his forearm. It illustrated everything that was _wrong_ about what was happening to him. He didn’t heal properly anymore. His light hurt him and his body didn’t just erase it like it used to.

Augus reached forwards and grabbed his wrist even as Gwyn tried to step away.

‘Easy,’ Augus said, and Gwyn hissed out a breath as Augus turned Gwyn’s hand and traced the angry red lines across his palm. ‘Does it hurt?’

‘A little,’ Gwyn admitted. ‘Hardly.’

‘You’ve been using it?’

‘I...fed,’ Gwyn admitted. ‘I’ve been practicing.’

A tiny glimmer of what could have been pride. It was a warm spark inside of him, especially as Augus looked at him with indulgence, green eyes gleaming.

‘Oh, have you?’ he purred.

Gwyn’s lips tipped up in a hesitant smile. Wasn’t Augus the one who told him he should train it? That he should use it?

‘Does it make things easier?’ Augus said, smoothing his palm along a particularly vicious knitted wound on the inside of his wrist. Gwyn tried to jerk his arm away, but Augus wouldn’t let go.

Gwyn became aware with a horrible, nauseating shudder, that Augus was _stronger_ than him. This wasn’t like the past when he could indulge Augus’ strength, knowing he could get away.

He had been prepared to answer, but panic thundered through him on sharp hooves and he tugged his arm hard, violently. Augus’ hand tightened, eyes narrowed to a scowl. He held Gwyn easily, though he had to brace himself. Gwyn grit his teeth together and jerked hard, fragile skin burning under Augus’ grip. It shouldn’t be this hard. He wasn’t supposed to be weaker than Augus. Not _ever._ Augus was strong enough even when Gwyn had been King, and this was untenable.

_‘Stop,’_ Augus said.

Gwyn’s whole body locked into place.

He hadn’t even had the presence of mind to realise that it was a compulsion, let alone that he could fight it. The compulsion had simply taken over. He stared at Augus, and Augus glared back at him, vexed, something like concern on his face, Gwyn couldn’t tell.

‘So they do work,’ Augus muttered. ‘Ah, be easy. I’ll let you go. _Don’t_ teleport away, and _don’t_ attack me, do you understand?’

Gwyn nodded shakily, still catching his breath when Augus let go of his wrist. One of the wounds had opened again. Augus made a clucking sound under his tongue when he saw it.

‘I panicked,’ Gwyn said. ‘I’m a lot more hair-trigger these days, Augus.’

‘You’re underfae,’ Augus said, as though it explained everything.

He looked around casually. He walked over to the tent that Gwyn had stolen when he was feeling well enough, peered inside. Gwyn watched him, drank in all his movements, still hardly able to believe Augus was in front of him. His whole body felt like it was leaning in Augus’ direction.

‘Do you have anything you wish to keep?’ Augus said finally. ‘We’re leaving. I don’t want to stay here. We need to get your status up, for a start. Though I hope you’ll bear with me, I’d like to enjoy you like this for a little longer.’

Gwyn shook his head, confused.

‘My status?’ Gwyn said.

‘Ash wouldn’t, but Gulvi will raise you up to something better than _this,’_ Augus waved a hand at Gwyn. ‘Also you need some food. There’s not much in the Unseelie Court right now, but we’ll find something.’

‘I thought you were...proud of being underfae,’ Gwyn said.

‘I was born underfae,’ Augus said. ‘I _am_ proud. But it doesn’t suit you, and punishing you for something that you cannot help being with such a demotion is – while somewhat entertaining – completely unsuitable.’

‘But I lied to them,’ Gwyn said. Augus laughed.

‘You’re _Unseelie._ What excuse did your parents have? Anyway, punishing an Unseelie fae for being Unseelie is ridiculous. Licgancy? Please.’

‘Gulvi’s not furious?’

‘With you or me?’ Augus laughed again, the sound fell from his lips so freely that Gwyn’s hands twitched with a need to snatch him back. He just wanted to be close to him. Augus gave him a measuring look and then walked towards him, a half-smile on his face as though he knew how much Gwyn wanted proximity. He stopped close enough that Gwyn could scent him properly again. ‘Sweetness, she’s confused, but she’s not truly angry with you. Not at all. The Soulbond...ah, maybe. It’s Gulvi. She likes to be furious at something. I still think she’d rather lecture you while you were Capital or Court status, rather than underfae.’

Augus rested his hands upon Gwyn’s ribs once more, then spider-walked his fingers down underneath Gwyn’s shirt, nails trailing up bare skin. Gwyn’s breath caught. Augus’ eyes lidded. Like this – Augus wearing boots and Gwyn barefoot – they were almost of a height.

Augus had to hardly rise up at all to lean in and press soft lips to his chapped ones. Gwyn flushed at the contact, acutely aware of how different he was now, how...imperfect. He hadn’t realised how much he’d appreciated his physical form until it failed him. It wasn’t that he saw himself as beautiful – never that – but he’d appreciated the functionality of his body. It did nothing properly anymore. He couldn’t even offer soft lips for Augus’ to rest upon.

‘You _reek_ of fear,’ Augus whispered against him. ‘Did you know? It’s everywhere. In your tent. On the land. Maybe you need someone to tame you, so you’ll forget what you were afraid of. Or maybe you need a point of focus. Perhaps I should encourage you to only fear _me.’_

Augus licked into his mouth as though he wasn’t bothered by the roughness of Gwyn’s lips. Gwyn wanted to protest, but there was a hand in his hair and another gripping him at the back of the neck, fingers holding him still.

‘But you already fear me,’ Augus said, withdrawing his tongue and leaving his mouth open against Gwyn’s. ‘You always have. It made me laugh, once. That you would come down into that cell and fear me even when I was underfae. I didn’t think I was particularly frightening, at the time.’

‘You managed,’ Gwyn said, tensing at the mention of the cell.

‘And you, a cell of your own.’

‘Your cell,’ Gwyn said, voice breaking.

Augus tensed. He withdrew enough that he could give Gwyn a hard stare. Gwyn resisted the urge to fidget, but his eyes moved away. In amongst all of his usual nightmares – Mafydd, his father, Efnisien, other horrors – he now dreamed of that cell, he dreamed of that demotion. He hadn’t once had a nightmare of what Tigbalan had done to him, but _that..._

‘Did they hurt you?’

‘Not especially,’ Gwyn shrugged with a single shoulder. His other shoulder ached constantly, though it was far better than it used to be. He met Augus’ eyes once more. ‘An interrogation. A Reader. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Albion has never liked violence as a default interrogation method. When we fought side by side he sometimes asked me to torture for him. He didn’t like to get his hands dirty.’

‘And the demotion itself?’ Augus asked. Gwyn looked past Augus’ shoulder and then stepped away, one arm wrapping around his side. He was surprised that Augus had let him go so easily.

‘I thought we were leaving,’ Gwyn said, desperate to see Gulvi, to get his status raised. It hadn’t occurred to him that such a thing might be possible. He hoped that none of it was an elaborate trap. He tried to remind himself that Augus liked the easy path. If it was a trap, Gwyn would likely know it by now.

‘Yes,’ Augus said, something troubled in his voice, ‘we are. You’ll be teleporting with me, come along.’

Gwyn turned back, placed his hand carefully into Augus’, their hands momentarily squeezing against each other’s.

It was only when they reached the sandy bank itself that Gwyn hesitated, looking over his shoulder. He’d fought hard to establish as much as he had. Certainly, the tent was stolen; but he had traps laid, they would need checking. He was beginning to find a routine for himself.

‘No,’ Augus said sharply. ‘You can’t stay. This isn’t your home. Do you know how I know? You haven’t used the home-shaping ability that _all_ fae have. You may have the instinct to nest, but this wasn’t it and your body knows it. You’d have something more than a tent otherwise.’

Gwyn looked back at Augus and nodded, grim. Augus was right. At no point had he ever felt like he had access to those home-shaping reservoirs of power awarded to all fae. He sighed as he looked down at the lake. He couldn’t recall having been subjected to Augus’ method of teleportation.

‘Before your head goes underwater, hold your breath,’ Augus said. ‘It won’t take long, but you’ll feel an urge to take a breath. _Don’t._ You’re underfae and-’

‘You don’t have to keep telling me,’ Gwyn snapped.

‘Don’t get defensive,’ Augus chastised, and Gwyn looked away, gritting his teeth. ‘As I was saying, you are _underfae,_ and you can die from drowning. I’d prefer you didn’t. Do you understand?’

‘I’m not a child,’ Gwyn said.

‘You’re not taking care of yourself and you don’t understand how to,’ Augus said. ‘There’s a reason demotions like yours are reserved as extreme punishments. It was an extended death sentence and you know it. Tell me how many Court fae have survived being demoted? It’s not many, trust me. The statistics are well against you. Also, can I tell you how much I appreciate stalling on Blighted land? You know how much it thrills me to be here.’

Gwyn flushed, stepped into the lake immediately, traced a path he was familiar with when he bathed in the cold waters. Augus huffed in something like exasperation and followed, the water folding around Augus’ body with far more familiarity. The water listened to him.

When the water was at their necks, Augus looked at him and raised his eyebrows. Gwyn took a deep breath, wincing at the last moment and exhaling hard when his rib twinged.

‘What was that?’ Augus said.

‘Nothing, it’s nothing. Let me try again.’

_‘Answer me,’_ Augus said. Gwyn made a single, tortured noise before the answer spilled from his lips.

‘My rib,’ Gwyn’s voice was hoarse as the compulsion ripped the words from his throat. ‘When they cut it. It’s not grown back. It’s better. It’s just not _better.’_

He breathed heavily. A flash of rage filled him, he lashed out and dug his fingers into Augus’ ribs. He hated being made this vulnerable in front of Augus when he looked so healthy, so well, so stable.

‘ _Stop_ using compulsions on me.’

‘It’s automatic,’ Augus said, hissing and dragging Gwyn’s grip away from his side. ‘Even if it wasn’t automatic, let me indulge, I’ve not had much opportunity with you.’

‘You don’t know what it feels like,’ Gwyn said. ‘You can’t know. You’ve never felt them. You’re immune. It’s awful.’

‘Look at you,’ Augus said, smirking, ‘actually _talking_ to me. Is this because you’re out of the Court? No matter. Deep breath. Perhaps not as deep as before.’

Gwyn wanted to get out of there, wanted to forget all of it. He took another deep breath, stopping before his rib throbbed too heavily. Augus jerked him underwater. He made a short, distressed sound as his body rippled out of existence. It felt like an earthquake moving through him, except he was liquid and currents. He felt like an air bubble that needed to burst, he wanted to open his mouth – or the place where his mouth might be – to equalise the pressure. He resisted the urge.

Just when it started to feel unbearable, they appeared – soaked – in a foyer covered in a tiled floor, streaming water. Gwyn fell to his knees, but Augus caught himself easily, grabbing a fluffy gray towel and covering Gwyn’s head with it, moving it roughly through his hair. It was the softest fabric he’d felt in some time. He reached up and touched it, risked peeking through the towel. Augus looked at him, paused when he saw Gwyn’s face, lips quirking up. Gwyn resisted the urge to smile back, wondered how all of this could be real.

Perhaps it was some elaborate dream. Except that he never had good dreams.

‘Come along,’ Augus said, shoving him with the towel and then leaving it around his shoulders. He squeezed the water out of his own hair with his hands. His clothing, which had beads of water all over it, only needed to be grasped at the hem and shaken for the water to shed to the floor. Gwyn’s shirt and pants were sodden. He sighed. It was the best clothing he had.

He followed Augus quietly, looking around. The last time he’d been in Augus’ home, the circumstances had been different, though not _that_ different. He’d still been desperate and worried for his life. Just for different reasons.

This home was far more welcoming. The kitchen and pantry was off to the left, like last time. But everything else was bigger, open. Gwyn smiled as he walked through dancing blue and green lights on the floor. A stained glass window, not the only one. He followed Augus, stopping when they turned a corner. Tucked away in the curve of a room was a large bed, cabinets, and over a large arched stained-glass window were several sprawling vines and one curling tendril that was still establishing itself. His eyes went back to the bed, then drifted to Augus.

Just like that, Augus was in front of him, pressing his body to Gwyn’s, inhaling deeply.

‘I haven’t fucked you in _months,’_ Augus said. Gwyn shuddered. Lust coiled up alongside terror and his hands shook. He hadn’t let himself imagine it. Instead his mind had tripped over memories of past couplings. He’d not allowed himself to imagine anything new.

‘Here?’ Gwyn said, looking towards the corridor. He couldn’t see it, because of how the room was designed. Weren’t there client rooms here too? Augus followed his gaze.

‘You’re not a client anymore,’ Augus said, something taut entering his voice. ‘You haven’t been for some time.’

Augus disappeared behind a jutting wall. He opened a cabinet, rummaged around for something, then returned with a large, black healer’s box. Augus opened the catches, revealing different compartments holding salves, containers, bandages, dried herbs, vials of liquid. He drew a container out, unscrewing the cap with no preamble and taking up some pale yellow unguent up on his fingers.

‘Arm,’ Augus said briskly, gesturing. Gwyn held out the one that hurt the most – the one he’d been channelling his light through – and Augus started smoothing on the salve. Gwyn closed his eyes as his skin immediately felt cooler, softer. It worked so _fast._ He sighed out relief, but he couldn’t keep his eyes closed for long, wariness driving them open again. He watched Augus work. He was efficient, he had a familiarity with what he was doing that reminded Gwyn of competent battlefield healers.

‘When did you learn to do this?’ Gwyn said.

‘I raised Ash, I had to learn to do it,’ Augus said, not looking up. ‘I suppose it is just a part of who I am, actually. I was born knowing some of the medicinal qualities of local flora. What was poison, what might heal. It was natural progression to further my own education. These are Court medicines though, not my own. Some could stand to be better made.’

He took Gwyn’s other arm by the wrist and raised it. The motion was too rough, Gwyn couldn’t brace himself properly for the pain in his shoulder. He hissed, pulled his wrist out of Augus’ grip, wincing.

‘The rib?’ Augus said. He watched the way Gwyn was holding his arm. ‘What happened? Tell me.’

Gwyn looked away, shook his head. He was grateful for the lack of compulsion, felt he should reward it with an answer, but he didn’t want to talk about it.

‘I was attacked.’

‘Attacked,’ Augus said, flat.

‘It was...early on, I think. I don’t remember. Some of Crielle’s men happened upon me in a forest and they, I...’

_Shot with an arrow, like Mafydd._

‘It’s ironic really,’ Gwyn laughed, the sound lacking humour and entirely nervous. ‘Given what I did to you in the forest.’

Augus placed both hands on his upper arm, feeling his skin through his wet shirt. He slid fingers up his arm and then Gwyn bit off a sound in the back of his throat when Augus hit scar tissue. He would have been able to feel the knots of it through his shirt. It was extensive. After Kabiri, it was a mess on both sides. He could feel it pull when he turned to look in the other direction, when he looked up, down, when he moved.

‘Undress,’ Augus said, but his fingers were moving to the buttons of Gwyn’s shirt and undoing them quickly. There was a strange blankness on Augus’ face. Gwyn wanted to help him, but Augus seemed to have everything under control, quickly peeling back the wet fabric. He drew it away from Gwyn’s good shoulder first, and then as Gwyn helped him remove it from his scarred one, Augus froze when he saw the scar tissue. Several seconds passed. Gwyn didn’t cringe, even as he expected to be pronounced hideous.

‘By the gods,’ Augus reached out and touched the place where the arrow had penetrated, or he would have, except that Gwyn jerked back and placed a hand over it protectively.

‘Don’t,’ Gwyn said.

‘This...’ Augus took the shirt off properly and looked at Gwyn’s back as he did so. ‘This...healed _badly.’_

‘It’s a lot better,’ Gwyn said. ‘I don’t know how long it will take to...for it to not...’

‘Not what? It’s scarred,’ Augus said, his voice faint. ‘It’s not going away. You’re stuck with it now. Was it...a mace?’

Gwyn realised that was how bad the damage looked, he smiled grimly.

‘One arrow.’

Augus stared at him.

‘I ripped it out,’ Gwyn admitted, shamefaced. ‘That was what I’d always done. I was disoriented. I ripped it out and it infected badly.’

‘I could have lost you to an infection,’ Augus said.

Gwyn could tell he wasn’t supposed to answer. Fingers skated up over the scar tissue and Gwyn moved backwards again, exhaling sharply. He didn’t like to look at it, he didn’t like to think about it, he didn’t think he could bear Augus’ graceful fingers touching it. He thought it was a monstrous thing.

And Augus had said that Gwyn was stuck with it now, surely he didn’t mean permanently?

Augus followed as he always did, grasping his good shoulder with a hand and digging fingers in, indicating he wanted Gwyn to hold still. Gwyn’s breathing escalated. He didn’t want to pit his strength against that grip, he worried he might not be able to get free. When Augus touched his fingers to the outer boundaries of the scar, where Gwyn could still feel sensation properly, he had to look away. He shook his head in the hopes that Augus would stop.

He’d always wanted scars. But, vainly, he’d wanted impressive sword scars, something to show some of the triumphs he’d achieved in battle. Now he had two scars. The seam where they’d cut into his body in front of the Seelie Court, the giant mess where he’d nearly killed himself without realising.

As fingers inched towards the place where the arrow had pierced him, Gwyn’s teeth grit together.

‘Does it hurt?’ Augus said, and Gwyn frowned. Did it? The joint of his shoulder itself ached faintly as it always did. The scar tissue itself was strange. By turns sensitive, then offering no feeling at all.

‘It’s different,’ Gwyn said.

Augus’ other hand squeezed, but Gwyn didn’t think it was designed to be reassurance. There was a play of emotion on Augus’ face, something that looked like displeasure in his lowered eyebrows and the purse of his lips.

‘It’s ugly,’ Gwyn said.

‘Very,’ Augus agreed. ‘I believe we’re going to need to get you to a healer.’

‘They’ll fix it?’ Gwyn said, and Augus looked at him with an expression that was clearly pity. Gwyn had seen that on Kabiri’s face too, when Gwyn had insisted he wasn’t about to die.

‘Gwyn,’ Augus said, and then shook his head as though he didn’t have the words for what he wanted to say. He wasn’t used to seeing Augus speechless, waited as Augus slid his hand up from Gwyn’s injured shoulder into his tangled hair. Fingers plucked at the knots Gwyn hadn’t been able to work out himself, and then Augus’ face twisted briefly, before smoothing again. ‘Gwyn, this is permanent. A healer can’t make this go away. I was thinking that a healer _may_ be able to support the shoulder joint, it’s beyond my skill. I can help the scar to fade, but I can’t address the damage that’s been done. A healer might.’

Augus stepped away and Gwyn experienced the bizarre sensation of feeling relief that he was no longer being gripped by a fae stronger than him, alongside the need to grasp at him, bring him back. He didn’t want to think about what Augus was telling him. Augus wasn’t a _healer,_ he didn’t know, surely.

Augus was rummaging through his box of salves again, and then brought out a small bottle with a clear liquid in it. He walked past Gwyn through an arched door into a bathroom, came back with a comb.

‘On the bed,’ Augus said, pointing with the comb. ‘I can’t stand your hair looking like this.’

‘Will you cut it?’

‘No, I want to _fuck_ you, not groom you. Not now, anyway. But I’m not dragging my fingers through that mess. You could have birds nesting in there.’

‘I tried to fix it,’ Gwyn said, reaching up to the mess that was his hair awkwardly. His hair was too fine and too prone to curling. Every time he’d gotten it wet, even after dragging his fingers through it, it still matted together.

He shivered when Augus knelt behind him on the bed, painfully aware of Augus in a myriad of ways. He folded his hands into his lap and looked ahead, hardly able to believe this was real. When fingers fluttered over his hair, he felt as though his body was gravitating towards Augus’. He was hypersensitive as underfae. The nerves under his skin ran sharper feedback throughout his body.

Augus laughed under his breath, trailed fingers down Gwyn’s spine.

‘You have gooseflesh already,’ Augus said, indulgently. ‘But first, let’s get the leaves out of your hair at least. And the family of partridge. There’s likely a herd of deer hiding somewhere.’

‘Be quiet,’ Gwyn muttered. ‘Besides, if I had found deer, I would not be hiding them in my hair, I would have _eaten_ them.’

Augus laughed and then abruptly stopped.

‘You’ve lost too much weight.’

Gwyn opened his mouth to retort and then realised it wasn’t an attack. He couldn’t think of anything to say, so sat still as Augus rubbed the liquid he had into Gwyn’s hair, combing the tangles out from the outside and working his way in. He was patient but efficient, clearly practiced. His clever fingers only put the comb down to work out individual bits of debris that Gwyn had picked up fleeing from other fae.

‘I was hunted a lot,’ Gwyn said, when Augus drew out a twig that Gwyn could remember tangling in his hair. It had snagged him hard, he’d fought with the low-hanging branch to get away from the mob of fae chasing him.

Augus said nothing. A minute later he stroked a line down Gwyn’s spine with the tips of his fingers. A lingering, slow touch.

It didn’t take too long for Augus to have worked out the knots, and when Augus started moving the comb through his hair from root to tip, Gwyn realised they were all gone. His scalp didn’t hurt or feel pulled any longer, and Augus hadn’t even needed to cut the knots out as Gwyn had planned to do himself.

Augus sank his fingers deep into Gwyn’s hair and then dragged them through; a single, sensual movement that had Gwyn shuddering beneath him, eyes widening.

‘There,’ Augus said. ‘Better. When did you last bathe?’

‘This morning,’ Gwyn said, voice deeper, betraying his growing arousal.

‘Mm, your hair is as clean as it could be, given the forest that was living in it.’

‘You exaggerate, Augus,’ Gwyn said, and then blinked at the ground when his hair was pushed aside and lips found the back of his neck. Augus had kissed him like this when they’d still been in the Seelie Court. When Gwyn had known that it was all over, that he was going to be killed, that Augus would want nothing to do with him. ‘I don’t understand any of this.’

Augus said nothing again, his hand clenched in Gwyn’s hair and the other came and dug into his side. Gwyn stiffened, tense, then lurched forwards as teeth sank into the back of his neck, breaking skin, drawing blood. The hand on his shoulder and in his hair tightened. He cried out, shocked. Arousal and fear tangled discordant inside him as Augus sank his teeth even deeper and blood trickled hot down his spine.

He froze, couldn’t think what else to do. Augus was stronger than him.

When Augus finally drew away, Gwyn could hear the sound of him licking his lips, followed by a rough sigh of hunger.

‘If everyone else in the world gets to massacre you, so do I.’

Augus bent forward. Gwyn shook as Augus started licking the blood away. He wanted to turn and press his mouth to Augus’ and taste it, he wanted to flee, he wanted his old status back. His neck throbbed. The wound would take days to heal, if not longer.

‘I want you,’ Augus said wetly against his skin, sucking on the wound at Gwyn’s neck until Gwyn whined, his heart fluttering. He was frightened, and it was deeper, harder to ignore than it used to be. Augus had always inspired some level of fear inside of him, but this was...

Augus’ mouth lingered at his neck as the hands holding him firm disappeared, moving behind him. Augus was undoing the buttons of his shirt, the buckle of his belt. He was undressing. Gwyn couldn’t concentrate properly. He wanted this, but now that he was here he felt Augus could ruin him too easily. When he heard the zipper of Augus’ pants go down, he stood up, breathing quickly.

He turned to face Augus, not wanting to have his back to him.

Augus stared up at him, blood smeared around his mouth, then blinked his dazed expression away until it became something sharp.

‘I do want this,’ Gwyn said in confusion, brow furrowing. ‘I do, I’m just, I am just...’

‘Ah,’ Augus said, his shoulders dropping. ‘Ah, I didn’t _think._ Stay there a moment.’

Augus finished undressing, slid off the bed easily, prowled towards him. Gwyn stared at the Soulbond remnants. They had faded slightly, but they were still bold across his chest. It marked him, stained him with a magic that was supposed to stay buried.

Augus stopped a distance away and placed a hand over his chest, eyes widening at whatever he found there.

‘You’re afraid,’ Augus said. ‘You have survival instincts now. Proper ones. Your body knows it can be damaged by this in a way that your mind doesn’t. It’s not like the old days, when you would shrug off injury of any kind. This can be good, it makes you more sensitive. But it is difficult. Most underfae learn how to control their physiological instincts over a period of decades – the instinct to attack, to defend territory. But you’ve only been at it for a few months.’

Augus sighed.

‘We’ll have to be careful, and you don’t like careful.’

‘Then _don’t_ be,’ Gwyn said.

‘Gwyn, sweetness, I shouldn’t injure you while your immune system is still trying to heal your shoulder. I enjoy inflicting pain on others, but I’ve had underfae clients before. If you came to me like this, I’d send you away until you were fitter and healthier. You’re underfed, you’re injured and scarred, you’re-’

_‘Stop,’_ Gwyn hissed.

Augus tilted his head at him and then rubbed a slow circle into his chest that was so familiar, he was left with a bone-deep confusion.

‘You don’t like knowing that you’re not some prime, physical specimen anymore, do you?’ Augus said.

Gwyn looked up at the ceiling, because it was petty and trite and _stupid._ But he hated it. He hated it so much that he couldn’t look at himself in still water and he didn’t want to see himself in a mirror.

‘The Seelie have always cared for physical appearance,’ Gwyn whispered.

‘Mm. Especially that mother of yours.’

‘Yes, I suppose,’ Gwyn said, not taking his eyes away from the ceiling even as Augus carefully started massaging his chest, digging his fingers into sore, knotted muscles. When he dragged his hands outwards to Gwyn’s upper arms and dug his thumbs in, tight circles designed to loosen sore tendons, Gwyn’s voice broke on a sigh. Augus hushed him, kept doing it, and Gwyn focused on his breathing, on the water-clean scent of Augus, pretended that none of this was a dream.

‘She will never stop, until you’re dead.’

‘Augus, if your aim is to make me want you, you’re failing.’

‘Oh,’ Augus said, laughing in delight. ‘A retort? From _you?_ Of course I’ve been more than aware of your capacity in the past, but this is almost new. And of course you want me. _Watch.’_

A hand between his legs that was more invasive and familiar than he’d expected. Gwyn twitched, looked at Augus in shock. Augus’ grin was smug, and after palming Gwyn’s soft length, he slid further beneath his legs and then scratched claw-tips over his pants, along his inner thigh. Augus raised eyebrows at him, continued the slow, languorous movements, then leaned and started licking languid strokes at Gwyn’s mouth, one after the other.

Gwyn’s mouth opened and Augus’ tongue slid inside, lips slanting until the kiss was thorough. Gwyn made a small sound and Augus hummed back, stroking his fingers up and over Gwyn’s length until he started to harden beneath the ghosting motions of Augus’ hand. Gwyn felt two fingers working buttons, the zipper, and then he shuddered and forgot to breathe for a few seconds when Augus’ hands were on him. One squeezed around the base of him, the other hovered around the head of him, a finger curling and tracing the flare.

Gwyn tore his mouth away, breathed heavily. Augus made a sound of satisfaction.

‘Good,’ he said. His hand squeezed too hard and Gwyn jerked at the pain, shocked at the rush of liquid heat that flowed up his spine in response. He hadn’t known how much he would still like pain as underfae when it was Augus doling it out. ‘Very good.’

Augus leaned in and placed his lips against Gwyn’s jawline.

‘Get on the bed,’ he said, command in every inch of his soft voice. ‘Face down.’

‘Augus...’

‘Do it.’

Augus let go of his cock, but stayed close as Gwyn turned and walked to the bed. When he reached it, he felt a hand between his shoulders pushing him. Gwyn glared over his shoulder.

‘Go on,’ Augus said.

‘I don’t need assistance,’ Gwyn grumbled. Augus pushed harder.

‘Maybe I just like aggravating you.’

‘Augus,’ Gwyn said, as he clambered onto the bed and lay face down, careful of his erection, ‘you like aggravating _everyone.’_

‘True, but I don’t like fucking everyone,’ Augus said, as he got on the bed after Gwyn. He lay on top of him, pressing his chest into Gwyn’s back, bracketing his forearms down on the bed by Gwyn’s shoulders. He was still soft – Augus had always taken a long time to get erect – but he ground his hips down into Gwyn’s skin anyway, claiming. Gwyn felt a deep, instinctive need to turn around and fight back, to establish his own dominance, but he was newly remembering all the books and scrolls he’d read that talked about early underfae instincts. About territory and the quick and dirty fights that could occur between underfae and others, often ending in death. He hadn’t thought the rules would apply to him.

Augus nosed Gwyn’s hair out of the way and started licking into the wound on his neck again, both of his legs falling either side of Gwyn’s hips, caging him further. Gwyn pressed his forehead into the bed, arched his neck, took deep breaths. When another trickle of blood made its way down his neck and dripped to the bed, he hissed.

‘I’ve grown attached to my blood,’ Gwyn managed.

‘I, also,’ Augus said, and Gwyn felt the stretch of lips against his skin as Augus grinned. ‘Relax. I’m only making this harder to heal without scarring. Besides, if you’ve grown so attached to it, maybe you want some of it back?’

Augus fisted his hand in Gwyn’s hair and pulled his head to the side, and Gwyn’s mouth opened to protest when a blood-slicked tongue slid into his mouth. He moaned in shock. They both stared at each other as Augus licked the blood up over Gwyn’s tongue. Augus’ eyes were lidded, and Gwyn felt the heavy, thick taste of his own blood in his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut when it reminded him of battlefields where he’d opened his mouth to the spray of blood and gore, of Nwython and Cyledr.

Augus grated a laugh into his mouth and Gwyn realised Augus knew _exactly_ what he was doing, the effect he was having. Worse, he likely knew how much it still aroused, despite the horror.

_He knows me too well._

Augus withdrew and then shifted, leaning towards a finely made chest of drawers and bringing out a vial of clear lubricant. Gwyn took a deep breath as Augus opened it, dripping a generous amount over his fingers, more than he thought he’d ever seen Augus use in the past. His brow furrowed.

‘Do you know what I learned?’ Augus murmured, kneeling up behind Gwyn and placing a flat hand on his lower back, pinning him to the bed. ‘I learned I’m not suited to rescue missions.’

‘I’m so surprised, given your history with resc-’

Gwyn’s voice choked off as fingers slid between the seam of his ass, he bucked. Augus’ hand kept him down.

‘I learned that Albion wasn’t quite the noble Seelie demigod that I thought he was,’ Augus said, two fingers massaging over Gwyn’s entrance with a promise that made his head spin. He writhed, hands coming up and fisting beside his head. At least he hadn’t been asked to get up on his hands and knees, but this was still difficult, and he suspected Augus knew it.

‘Is he not?’ Gwyn said, voice trembling. ‘I thought he behaved as much as...one can be expected to, given that he is Seelie and has been so badly betrayed.’

‘He talked about putting you down like the dog you are,’ Augus said quietly.

A finger pushed, breached him. Gwyn made a choked sound, tensed. It wasn’t painful, but he was far more sensitive than he used to be, and he couldn’t quite decipher the signals his nerves were sending through his body.

‘No,’ Augus said. ‘Relax.’

‘Perhaps _stop_ talking about Albion then,’ Gwyn growled, and Augus shifted his fingers slightly, but didn’t push in any further.

He felt a forehead between his shoulder-blades, breath gusting out against his skin. His hair was a series of damp curls clinging to him. He hadn’t thought that he would ever know the feeling of it again. His breaths were getting larger, shuddering heavily in his chest.

‘Easy now,’ Augus whispered, but the words were rushed. ‘You’re safe. You’re safe.’

‘Am I?’ Gwyn said. Was he? He’d missed Augus, but he’d not known what it might mean if he ever saw Augus again.

‘Yes,’ Augus said. ‘You’re safe. And, it turns out, not dead at all, despite your efforts.’

Augus sounded distressed, his voice not its usual sure, calming cadence. Gwyn focused on that, tried to imagine Augus going from place to place, looking for him. He could hardly imagine it. But Augus had visited Blighted land, clearly didn’t like visiting it. He wondered how things had been for Augus, wanted to ask, but couldn’t find the words with the tip of a finger inside of him and wet hair draped across his upper back.

‘Sweetness,’ Augus whispered, sliding his finger deeper.

Gwyn breathed out a sharp exhale, he tried to spread his legs and couldn’t with the way Augus was kneeling over him.

‘Let it be sharper,’ Augus said, as though he knew exactly what Gwyn was experiencing. ‘When you’re Court status, your nerves dull because pain stops mattering quite as much. It affects your perception of pleasure. So let this be sharper. Don’t ride it, sweetness, let it ride you.’

And with that, Augus slid his finger firmly home to the knuckle, and instead of waiting, started a firm, consistent rhythm that had Gwyn unsure if he wanted to move away or into the movement. He exhaled rough gasps that normally matched a far harsher treatment from Augus. He whined and Augus hushed him again, pushing the tip of a second finger inside and sliding that forward too. This time he went far slower, but Gwyn still felt like he was being split.

He turned his head to the side and stared, paralysed with the feedback that was circulating in his body.

His light leapt violently, and he gasped a strangled sound as he struggled to shove it down.

‘My light,’ he managed.

‘Is it going to be a problem?’ Augus said, his voice even, calm, despite the fact that he was now moving two fingers back and forth and Gwyn felt a sting and an ache already. He nodded his head.

_‘Keep it down,’_ Augus said, and Gwyn’s throat worked as the light curled in on itself inside of him. _‘And if you can’t, tell me.’_

The second compulsion hit far harder. For several seconds Gwyn couldn’t think at all. When he came back to himself, Augus had paused movement and was stroking his hair soothingly, clucking under his tongue.

‘It will be better when you’re a higher status,’ Augus said, sounding tired. ‘It’s not like this for all underfae. Babies, children, fae in the first few years of their life, yes, but...we grow out of it. And you were always sensitive for a Court fae and then a King who put himself through as much as you did, so perhaps this makes sense.’

Gwyn wasn’t entirely sure what Augus was talking about. He found it hard to concentrate, and Augus didn’t expand. Time passed, far more time than Augus normally took to prepare him, but Gwyn realised he needed the long minutes. It was taking an age for him to relax properly, and he was impatient for Augus to be buried inside of him and yet aware that he couldn’t just take liberties with himself as he used to.

‘Gods, I hate this,’ Gwyn breathed. ‘It’s pathetic, isn’t it?’

‘No,’ Augus said, curling his fingers inside of Gwyn and turning his world to sparks of hot, heavy liquid for several seconds. ‘No, it isn’t. It’s a punishment designed to kill you. I’m proud of you for surviving it. This...Gwyn, believe me, I would tell you if I thought you were being pathetic. I would _enjoy_ telling you.’

‘He tried to kill me anyway,’ Gwyn mumbled.

‘If you don’t want to talk about it, then _don’t,’_ Augus said, his voice sharpening. ‘I’ve found I don’t want to talk about the two thousand ways you very nearly died. It’s not as enjoyable a pastime as you think it is.’

Augus’ hand faltered and he muttered something under his breath in a rippling, watery language. Gwyn’s eyes narrowed. That was the language of the Rusalka, wasn’t it? Even so, Gwyn couldn’t pick up what exactly he’d said. Perhaps it was just cursing.

‘Sweetness,’ Augus whispered.

Gwyn felt warm and flushed at the endearment. Augus was still calling him sweetness. It _must_ mean something, he was sure. Perhaps...things were not as dire as Gwyn had imagined. He relaxed, then groaned thickly at the feel of what Augus was doing to him. The worst of the sharpness receded and became a sluggish, heavy wave of arousal that bullied its way through him until the top of his head felt like it was burning.

‘Augus,’ Gwyn gasped, ‘Augus, please.’

Augus didn’t respond, and Gwyn closed his eyes, his head rolled weakly. It wasn’t sickening like the time Augus had been gentle with him, but nor was it a more formal scene either. Yet he still felt as though he was owned by Augus, as though Augus understood his body, his cells better than he did.

_He does, you fool. You know that he does._

‘I thought I wouldn’t see you again,’ Gwyn said, his voice breaking. He was supposed to be strong, he knew that. These were the things he wasn’t supposed to say. He tensed, and Augus leaned forwards and pressed small, light kisses to his unharmed shoulder. Time passed, Gwyn rolled his hips impatiently up into Augus’ hand, then stilled, embarrassed. But it must have been what Augus was waiting for, because he carefully added a third finger, kissed Gwyn’s skin wetly, thoroughly. He didn’t pause at the bitten off sound of strain.

‘But, behold, you did end up seeing me again,’ Augus said finally, when his third finger was buried up to the last knuckle. Gwyn shifted beneath him, feeling as though he couldn’t quite contain the sensations streaking through him. His light – dormant since Augus’ compulsions – crept up to the surface again, painted the inside of his skin.

He gasped and then cried out when Augus started moving his fingers firmly. Augus was consistent, and Gwyn felt driven over ridges of pleasure and pain, an ache blooming in his gut that was chased with a thick feeling that turned his cock sore where it was pressed against the bed, leaking precome. His whole lower body felt as though it was taking a beating, and he knew that it wasn’t. He was stunned at how sensitive he was. Underfae may have been weak, but they still healed better than humans. He turned his face into the blankets and exhaled a long, broken sound.

He wanted Augus inside of him, bucked his hips forwards to gain friction, slid back helplessly onto Augus’ fingers.

‘Fuck,’ Augus muttered. ‘Fuck, I can do this properly later. I can’t wait.’

He withdrew his fingers abruptly, Gwyn hissed at the lack, then gathered handfuls of blanket to himself when Augus covered him with his body, lube newly applied to his cock as Augus pressed with purpose between his ass-cheeks. The fingers guiding Augus’ cock tested his entrance again, stretching, and Gwyn grunted with impatience.

_‘Augus,’_ he said, his voice sharp.

‘What a bad attitude you have,’ Augus said, though he sounded delighted. ‘Careful what you ask for, Gwyn, I might just deliver.’

Augus pressed forwards, rolling his hips and pinning Gwyn to the bed with his cock. Gwyn opened his mouth wide against the blankets, but nothing greater than whimpers came forth. The stretch was acute, even with more preparation than he was used to. Augus was breathing audibly above him, but even that wasn’t enough to eclipse Gwyn’s rough gasps as Augus paused halfway and then withdrew slightly, pushing forwards again, deeper. The ache that had spread like a water stain within him was strengthening into pain, and Gwyn wanted it, had missed a pain that Augus could control and wield with precision.

He was so tired of pain that couldn’t be controlled at all.

When Augus’ hips finally pressed flush to Gwyn’s ass, Gwyn became vaguely aware of hushing noises, a hand stroking through his hair. Only then did he realise that he was dry sobbing on every exhale. He was overwhelmed. That morning he had been planning on checking and resetting the traps. He’d been moving through a range of shoulder exercises that he forced himself to complete multiple times every day. He’d been despairing over his grim future.

‘Is it the pain?’ Augus said, and Gwyn shook his head, pressing his forehead to the bed and concentrating hard to keep his distress manageable. But he couldn’t, it was a swell within him, he shook his head rapidly.

‘I didn’t _expect_ this,’ Gwyn said, hating the way his voice sounded. ‘I didn’t expect this, I don’t know if it’s a trick and I _should_ know, I used to be good at seeing- at seeing these things, and I didn’t see _anything,_ I didn’t see what Crielle had planned and I can’t tell if this is a trick and if this is just...I can’t tell if you’re going to kill me or, or if I’m in the custody of the Unseelie Court and I don’t know what I-’

‘Honestly,’ Augus said, though his voice wasn’t calm. ‘Honestly, the _melodrama_ with you.’

Augus rolled his hips after letting his legs fall to either side of Gwyn’s body. Gwyn’s voice broke on a sharp noise. Fingers kept stroking through his hair, a gentle counterpoint to the wreckage of feeling that Gwyn was from the chest down. One of his curls was tugged on, then another, and then Augus was twisting his fingers in Gwyn’s hair and turning his face to the side.

‘Kiss me,’ Augus said, voice rough.

‘Augus...’

‘Now,’ Augus demanded.

Gwyn’s lips were shaking as they both shifted slightly to allow for the kiss. The angle wasn’t quite right. He pressed his lips to Augus’, briefly felt like apologising for the condition his lips were in, and then could only concentrate on the feel of Augus inside of him, the texture of his lips. He lingered and Augus didn’t move away, and when Gwyn opened his eyes, Augus had his closed, eyelashes fluttering against his cheek.

‘I don’t want to kill you,’ Augus said in a rush against his mouth. ‘Not really. Sometimes, in that way that waterhorses like myself can. I dream of your blood on my hands, filling my mouth. I dream of your lungs filling with water as I pull you under. I’m possessive. I just want to _own_ you.’

Gwyn was faintly horrified at how those words flared like fire through him. He gasped against Augus’ mouth. Augus bit at his lower lip, then sucked it between his own, before withdrawing and resting his head against Gwyn’s face.

‘This is no trick, you _idiot.’_

‘If it were me, if it were me, and you had done the things to me that I had done to you, I would have you in custody, there are cells in the Unseelie Court. I would-’

‘No,’ Augus breathed. ‘No, you wouldn’t. I don’t want to do this now. My cock is distracting me a lot right now, because you are tight and as hot as a _furnace_ , I’d almost forgotten.’

Augus groaned softly and his hips moved quickly, sharply, a wave of undulation that made Gwyn turn his head sharply and wail against the blankets.

But Augus paused, and Gwyn gathered his breath back to himself.

‘You let me almost break a blood-oath with you. You let me nearly kill you. I’ve had knives buried in your skin, sweetness. Let us list the crimes we’ve committed against one another, or better yet, let us consider the future. The times when you will be mired in your cruelty and callousness, or the times when I will just want you to _hurt_ and I don’t care how sweetly you cry or beg for mercy beneath me.’

‘You see me in your future?’ Gwyn said, and Augus made a sound of impatience.

‘I _don’t_ want to talk about this now,’ Augus muttered.

And with that, he shifted his stance and braced both of his forearms by Gwyn’s side, lifting his hips, withdrawing nearly all the way, and sliding back into him with a strength that stole Gwyn’s breath and left him with sparks in his lungs. His cock leapt against his belly, but had nowhere to go. He was caught.

Augus thrust in earnest. Gwyn’s thighs shifted, but Augus’ kept them trapped. His toes curled, feet flexing in response. The sharpness of it took his mind off the ache in his shoulder, drove his concentration to his own cock and the one moving inside of him, to cool, damp hair against his upper back.

His cock throbbed where it was caught between his belly and the bed, his balls began to tighten, he was close.

His light leapt to the surface.

‘Augus,’ he gasped, panicking. ‘Augus, the light.’

_‘Hold onto your light, keep it down,’_ Augus said, and Gwyn went limp as the compulsion forced his body to do things that he didn’t quite know how to do himself. It was then he remembered that Augus had compelled him to say when the light was going to be a problem. He almost said something in protest, but with the light less of an issue, it was the impending orgasm that was leaping like fireworks along the base of his spine that distracted him.

‘Augus,’ Gwyn pleaded, warned, he couldn’t tell anymore.

‘Don’t hold back...on my account,’ Augus said, speeding up.

Gwyn hung on a precipice for so long he was sobbing again as he strove for release. Augus crooned a soothing sound at him, then raked claw tips down Gwyn’s side, scoring his skin, a searing pain that shoved at him.

He came silently, shaking and hips bucking beneath Augus’ continued thrusts. Fingers twisted up in his hair again, his head was pulled to the side, each inhale scouring the room.

Exhausted, Gwyn could do little as Augus continued to move inside him. He was more sensitive, every faint brush against his prostate made his muscles twitch. His cock softened between his own skin and the blankets, the heat of his own come turning everything sticky. He whined briefly, then hummed in tired satisfaction to feel Augus moving inside him still. It was like sea-sickness, turbulence, but it was one that he wanted. One that he’d missed.

His eyes were closed, his body went as limp as he could manage with the pain in his side and shoulder, even the duller pain of Augus thrusting inside of him.

His mind drifted, thoughts drowning under the feedback in his body. A rush of sudden affection turned even his fingers and toes warm.

_Sweetness._

Augus made a strangled sound above him and his hips stuttered, the smooth rhythm suddenly becoming a sharper, harder one as Augus bucked hard, spilling impossibly hot inside of him. Gwyn gasped to feel it, pressed his hips up into Augus’. Augus, above him, made half-formed sounds, far more of them than he usually did. Teeth sank into his good shoulder and Gwyn sighed.

He felt a doze beckoning, listed towards it. He hoped he could manage a doze instead of sleep, he hadn’t brought his gag with him. Augus withdrew a couple of minutes later, and Gwyn winced at the feeling of seed spilling between his legs. He was a mess. He needed to bathe in the lake...or, perhaps, if he asked nicely, he could use Augus’ shower. He’d missed showers.

‘What did you say?’ Augus said, sounding dazed. ‘Before?’

‘I didn’t say anything,’ Gwyn said, words hardly coherent. Fingertips touched his forehead briefly and Gwyn opened his eyes, but Augus had already slid off the bed. Where was he going? Was that it? Fear prickled through him. He was vulnerable. He was _too_ vulnerable.

By the time he’d started propping himself on his arms, Augus was already back, smoothing a hand down his spine and carefully avoiding the scar on his shoulder.

‘Settle for me,’ Augus said quietly. ‘Settle.’

A wet cloth between his legs and Gwyn made a sound of discontent, wincing when Augus probed between his ass cheeks with the cloth.

‘You’ll hurt tomorrow,’ Augus said.

‘I hurt every day,’ Gwyn said, and then stilled. He hadn’t meant to say that. Augus’ hand had paused against him, and then continued.

‘Turn over,’ Augus said, and Gwyn did, sighing as Augus sponged away his come.

‘I’m surprised you didn’t use my clothing,’ Gwyn said, and Augus laughed under his breath.

‘Shut up.’

One corner of the cloth made a pass on the wound on the back of his neck, which throbbed again now that Gwyn wasn’t distracted by other things. And then it sailed down the shallow wounds Augus had clawed into his side. Augus muttered something under his breath.

‘What is it?’

‘I shouldn’t injure you as easily,’ Augus said, rubbing his fingers over the grazes, making Gwyn squirm. When Gwyn twisted tiredly to see Augus’ expression, the furrowed brow and the actual frown indicated Augus was angry at himself. ‘I know better. I’m taking your old healing ability for granted. These won’t disappear in twenty minutes.’

‘Oh,’ Gwyn said, he hardly minded. As long as he didn’t infect again, but then perhaps if Augus somehow stayed...Augus seemed to know a great deal about things that could help with infection and injuries.

Augus slid off the bed again and Gwyn listened as he walked around his own home. His _new_ home. A faint pleased feeling bloomed in his chest at that. Augus was as free as he could be, still alive, living underwater and he was healthier and seemed...happier, perhaps. He hummed when Augus returned and covered Gwyn with blankets. Augus slid onto the bed behind him, pushing Gwyn onto his side and pressing his chest to Gwyn’s back.

Fingers stroked down his hip, before an entire hand grasped at it, holding him firmly. The grip was possessive. Gwyn liked it.

‘My dear heart,’ Augus whispered.

Gwyn’s heart leapt, a strange sound made its way out of his throat.

‘You should get some rest. We have much to discuss tomorrow.’

‘Do we?’ Gwyn said, voice slurred.

‘Yes,’ Augus said, sounding so serious that Gwyn wanted to turn and ask him what was wrong. But lassitude turned his thoughts to mush, and he only had enough energy left to ensure a doze. He’d have to sleep soon, very soon, but he didn’t want nightmares to spoil this moment. He sank into a darkness that was gentler than the hand that held him to Augus’ side.

*

He snapped out of his doze suddenly, the hand on his shoulder a threat. He turned too fast, his bad shoulder stiff and shrieking, his lower body a buzzing ache, but he still latched his hand on the wrist and-

_‘Calm down.’_

The compulsion rocked his body limp, he couldn’t even fight it. The barrier he’d spent so long constructing – months of sessions where he would bleed from his eyes, nose, ears to learn how to fight those compulsions – it was thinner than tissue paper. It meant _nothing._

‘Fuck,’ Gwyn choked, realising where he was, what had happened. The night came back in a rush.

‘Stop trying to kill me, then. I can’t believe I _still_ have to deal with attempted murder when I’m around you. Here.’

Gwyn flinched as something flew into his face. His hands came up and drew down fresh, clean-smelling clothing. Buckskin pants that looked similar to his old ones, a button-up white shirt made of cotton, he thought. He looked at Augus in shock.

‘Put them on. I think they’ll fit.’

‘Where did you get them?’

‘I stole them,’ Augus shrugged. He was already dressed. A pale, dove-grey shirt, black pants, his rapier already strapped to his side.

Gwyn opened his mouth to protest wearing stolen clothing, then realised he didn’t need to do that. Not anymore. He moved out of bed slowly, trying to make it look like he was not forced into slowness by his shoulder, by the ache that Augus had promised him he would have. It was humiliating.

Putting on the shirt was a rake of coals through his shoulder and up into his neck, down into his spine. He paused, shuddering. He half-expected Augus to help him, was already flushed with annoyance at the very thought. But Augus didn’t help, and when Gwyn looked up, Augus was simply watching him, an unreadable expression on his face.

Gwyn put the shirt on alone and felt better for it. The clothing was far finer than anything he’d worn in some time, and his fingers lingered on the hems, the stitching.

‘I...wanted to know if I might use your shower later?’ Gwyn said, hesitant.

‘We need to talk,’ Augus said. ‘I have a proposition for you, and I daresay you’re not going to like it. First, I need to talk to you about the state of the Unseelie Court.’

Gwyn was tense as he watched Augus pace once across the room and then back again. He watched Gwyn warily now, and Gwyn felt cautious in turn.

There was a sharp, gnawing hunger in his stomach. He realised how long it had been since he had last eaten, and remembered that he’d wanted to check the traps the day before because he was rationing his proteins and it just wasn’t enough.

‘Might I first trouble you for some food?’ Gwyn said, wincing.

‘Fruit,’ Augus said, holding up a hand to indicate Gwyn should stay put as he walked into his kitchen.

‘Not any meat?’ Gwyn called after him. Augus didn’t answer. Outside of his core diet of human flesh, he ate only plant matter.

Augus came back with a basket of apples and frowned as Gwyn snatched one and had almost a third of it in his mouth on his first bite. But the apples were small, he was famished.

‘Can we talk first? Or do you need more now?’ Augus said, and Gwyn shook his head.

‘This is fine, thank you. How many may I have?’

Augus’ eyebrows raised.

‘All of them. You said you’d used your light to feed. Is that not...holding?’

‘It doesn’t, no,’ Gwyn said, around a mouthful of apple. The sweetness was incredible. He’d not been able to access any food so good for months. It was tart, good quality, he had to resist moaning as he took another one up in his hand. Augus was watching him with a horrified realisation creeping across his face. ‘What?’

‘I don’t think you’ll survive this status,’ Augus said, voice faint. ‘I don’t think you would have at any point, even if you’d been born underfae. I don’t know anyone else with a light like yours. I know there are abilities that burn out their fae so that their life-spans are shortened, but I hadn’t thought...you might be one of them.’

‘What did you want to talk to me about?’ Gwyn said. He’d already figured out he wouldn’t survive his light about a month earlier. He’d eaten all of his stocks of food in one day, which included stolen food from soldiers, trapped animals, vegetable matter he’d scrounged. He ate far more than he used to, and he was _still_ hungry. It was then he realised that his light was burning him out, that he would starve to death.

Augus watched him for several more seconds and grimaced.

‘The Unseelie Court is broke. There are several income streams, but not enough to build the treasury. We have no military. There are no more than five Court-keeper fae looking after the entire Unseelie Court, and there is _no Court.’_

Gwyn frowned. He remembered Gulvi having problems with assembling a Court. He’d given her a list of names.

‘No one? Not even the Finfolk of Aberderrig? What about the Manytrees? I did give Gulvi a list. I highlighted the ones that would be quickest to forgive, and the ones that would be most useful – merchant noble families. She-’

‘How do you know so much about the Unseelie noble families?’

‘Oh, please,’ Gwyn snorted, biting into the next apple after swallowing down the core and seeds of the first. ‘I was a General for how long, Augus? Who do you think funded most of the campaigns against me? Against the Seelie? It was the noble families that put up the funds necessary to give surety to the Unseelie Court, for the Unseelie Court has always needed a significant stock of funds to remain in their treasury, so most everything else is done on noble family trade. What do you mean the Unseelie Court is broke? Where did that stock of funds go?’

‘Ah,’ Augus said, looking uncertain, ‘that may have been me. I had never taken a particular interest in the treasury or the accounts, and do you think my Inner Court had a treasurer?’

Gwyn winced.

‘I think I remember finding that convenient at the time,’ Gwyn sighed.

‘Gwyn, there’s something you have to understand,’ Augus laughed. ‘The Unseelie fae...the reports are that they are quite appreciative of this concept of an Unseelie fae who tricked his way into the Seelie Court to learn all their secrets. That’s a very _Unseelie_ thing to do.’

‘But I didn’t do that. Albion knows that.’

‘Albion isn’t certain,’ Augus said abruptly. ‘I partly disabused him of that notion. And the Unseelie fae will always take a good story over the truth, because we deal in lies. We deal in the sophisticated lies of stories and we deal in the crude ones too. It turned out the Unseelie fae really _do_ need someone to rally behind, it just wasn’t Ash.’

Gwyn frowned at him. He felt uneasy. His mind was connecting dots and the picture he was seeing form was an impossible one _._ But he had been predicting things incorrectly for some time.

Gwyn placed down the basket of apples and folded his arms. Augus watched the movement and his lips thinned.

‘As it stands, Gwyn, the Unseelie Court cannot be run by Ash and Gulvi. You missed the mark with those two I’m afraid. Obviously, I can’t be King of anything, and I don’t _want_ to be. You see, as crazy as it sounds-’

_‘No,’_ Gwyn said, voice hard, arm cutting down in an abrupt motion. ‘No, I don’t want to hear it. Don’t you-’

‘-You...I did always say you could be the King our side deserved.’

Gwyn stared at him. He tried to calm himself, but sparks of emotion were flaring into heat and fire and light inside of him _._

_‘How could you?!’_ Gwyn shouted, feeling like he’d walked into a farce. ‘Did _you_ come up with this plan? Of course you did. You’ve never been able to manage _a single thing_ when it came to being more than the Raven Prince’s decorative accessory, which was why you were so _easy_ to defeat. They thought it would take centuries to defeat you! But it didn’t, one look at what you were doing to the Court, it was disgusting that you could take something so sacred and turn it into that. Much. Destruction. The world hurt, you so you hurt it back, yes? How _sophisticated._ And now what, based off a _single_ rumour, you want to make me King? Are you...You have taken leave of your senses, Augus!’

Augus stared at him, mouth open, eyes wide. He looked almost as he did the first time he’d discovered Gwyn was Unseelie.

A moment later he cleared his throat and shook his head, dazed.

‘Gulvi thinks it’s a good plan,’ Augus said sharply. ‘She’s behind this. We can do a lot with a single rumour, and we can plant more of our own. I’ve already sewn some seeds. She thinks with enough support, a decent Inner Court, this could be-’

_‘No!’_ Gwyn shouted again, his voice booming through the room. ‘I didn’t go through everything I just went through, the demotion, the... _everything_ , to be yoked back into a burden I never wanted. Ever. On either side.’

‘The Unseelie Court needs stability,’ Augus persisted, and Gwyn laughed.

‘You say the Unseelie Court needs stability, but Augus, I have never brought stability with me _anywhere_ I go.’

‘Because you were an Unseelie fae in the Seelie Court!’ Augus shouted, exasperated. ‘That _means_ something! Just as the Seelie Court was never supposed to wear on your energy for so long, so an Unseelie fae is _never_ supposed to reside in the Seelie Court – outside of its prison – for so long! What is discordance in one Court is harmony in another! And yet you still did everything they asked of you! You still made it _work!_ You did almost all of it on your own and it is – Gwyn – quite incredible when you step back and consider it. You-’

‘I was raised to _fight,’_ Gwyn said, his voice rough. ‘Show me a map, show me where the enemy is coming from and how many, and show me what soldiers I’ve got, and I’ll hack something together. That is what I am. A crude tool of the Seelie Court. I was not raised for aristocratic Court life. I care not for the parties, the masques, the Winter Courts and the Summer Courts. I-’

‘That is why you have a substantial Inner Court,’ Augus insisted. ‘I know how to run a Winter Court. I know how to run the Wild Hunt.’

‘Oh, and you’ve already conveniently inserted yourself into this new regime have you? Do you need another King to overthrow?’

Augus rocked on his feet as though he’d been hit. His face twisted, became ugly, and for a moment Gwyn thought he’d gone too far. He _had_ gone too far. But Augus took a deep, slow breath and forced his face to calm.

‘I know that this-’

‘I want my _freedom,’_ Gwyn said, his voice desperate. ‘I don’t care if I’m living on Blighted land. I don’t care where I live! I-’

‘Tell me how fulfilling that was for you, _truly_ ,’ Augus snarled. ‘You look _beaten_ by life. You look – I expect – like you’ve just gone a round with your father.’

‘How _dare_ you say th-’

‘I don’t want to fight,’ Augus said quickly. ‘I need you to listen to me. You’re _dying._ You are wasting away, you’re unwell. How much...how much...’

Augus bit his lip and then held up a hand.

‘I’m going to say something to you that you said to me. Because it holds. ‘What freedom did you truly think you’d have for yourself, after everything that you’ve done, and everything that you’ve experienced? Has it taken this long for you to realise that it doesn’t exist? _’’_

_‘I DON’T WANT TO BE KING!’_ Gwyn roared, light sparking from the palm that he’d thrown out to the side. It had only been a tiny flare, and Gwyn clenched his fist hurriedly, hand sore. They both stared at it for a second, Gwyn’s breathing harsh in the room.

‘Sweetness, you need to speak with Gulvi, you need-’

‘Ash will never agree to this,’ Gwyn rasped, blindsided.

Augus _knew_ how much he hated, loathed Kingship. Gwyn felt betrayed. His hand came up to his chest, and he stared at Augus. It hurt to inhale.

‘Ash...you might be surprised, I know something about him that you discovered about me. We like the path of least resistance. He doesn’t want to be King either.’

‘I can’t do it again, I won’t,’ Gwyn said, and then caught himself when his knees buckled. ‘I can’t. Augus, I cannot. I _cannot_.’

Augus watched him for a long moment, his expression twisting from that horrible understanding of before, to something grave and sad. He closed his eyes, nodded.

‘Alright, but come with me to the Unseelie Court. At least let us get your status up, and granted formal asylum. And proper food. Alright? Will you do that? Will you come with me?’

‘A trick,’ Gwyn said, his voice weak. ‘There’s always a trick.’

‘You’re Unseelie,’ Augus said, sounding exhausted. ‘You could learn to play us too, you know. You’ve done it before.’

Gwyn sat down heavily on Augus’ bed and then winced and hissed as pain lanced up his lower spine. Augus wasn’t wrong, he was sore. Augus walked up to him and Gwyn watched cautiously as he sat next to him, resting his forearms on his legs and looking at his hands.

‘You really want this?’ Gwyn said.

‘I see something that I know is...possibly not sane or clever,’ Augus said. ‘I see that there is a reputation and a rumour we could use to rally the Unseelie again, who are unstable, and frankly frightened. I see greatness in you. I see how it would benefit me. And I know how terribly angry it would make Albion, and like you said, I am destructive, and I am petty.’

‘I shouldn’t have said those things,’ Gwyn said.

Augus looked at him.

‘Even if they’re true?’ Augus said, and Gwyn turned to him in surprise, catching a glimpse of a grin. ‘I have always wanted to tear apart the world a little. I love to lash out. It surprised me that you _said_ them. What a rebellious creature you are.’

‘My mother used to say the same thing,’ Gwyn said, looking down at his own hands.

‘Perfect. We’ll make an upstanding Unseelie out of you yet.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, 'Homecoming:' 
> 
> ‘I mean it, Gwyn. Did you think we were done with this? Hm? That you would escape my wrath? That you could escape your own need to be hurt? To give in?’


	43. Homecoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No new tags. However we do have some pretty significant porn coming in this one - or at least I think so! 
> 
> *
> 
> A massive thank you to everyone who is interacting and making this so much fun, and to the lurkers who lend their silent support just in reading this and (hopefully) enjoying themselves! Comments are love, and I hope all of you have a great weekend! :D

The conversation about Gwyn becoming King couldn’t continue, and Augus found himself not despairing, but turning to patience. Water could wear anything down, and Gwyn’s stubbornness was stone-like. Still, there was no point pursuing the subject. He’d found Gwyn some dried fruit, watched Gwyn eat, each motion a furtive snatch that indicated how famished he was.

There were indications everywhere. Many of his ribs were visible. His muscles had wasted. Before, when he’d been King of the Seelie Court, he’d had some body fat padding out some of his musculature – hidden in secret places that were softer than others, that Augus’ fingers would find and scratch nails across – and it all seemed to be gone. Augus’ hungry hands had combed him to see where mercy may have marked him, but they felt nothing more than trembles and Gwyn’s wanting breaths.

And that _scar._

Even for what Gwyn had described – infection, ripping an arrow out – it seemed much more extensive than it should have been. The knotted, folded scar was an angry dark red in appearance, its reach frightening. It curved over the top of his shoulder, sent fingers of scar tissue underneath his arm, down his pectoral, across his shoulder blade. Augus could not fathom how ripping an arrow out could have done so much damage. Perhaps Gwyn’s light had something to do with it. He desperately wanted to get him to a healer to be certain.

He couldn’t look at it without seeing pain that still lurked.

It was compounded by Gwyn’s reluctance to talk about it. Or anything. The demotion included.

_So he’s collected some more awful experiences then. Typical._

His hands tensed by his sides as he watched Gwyn wolf down dried apples and pears. This was nothing like those two weeks that Gwyn let himself get tortured by Tigbalan. There was a fragility that he’d not seen before. It was more than Gwyn’s hunger or his physical pain.

‘I know you’re tired,’ Augus said finally, hating the way Gwyn looked at him as though every sentence was a prelude to an attack. ‘But I think it’s far more important to see if Gulvi will raise you to another status, and get you some more food.’

Gwyn looked apprehensive, but then they were still coming down from their argument. He’d never seen Gwyn lose his patience like that before. Never been yelled at to quite that degree. People didn’t _yell_ at him; not unless he triggered them during a scene. And no one had ever talked to him quite the same way Gwyn had. In response, he was furious, but it was buried down in the waters of his mind. At the surface were a plenitude of concerns. His anger could wait. If he could make Gwyn strong enough to bear it, he could lash out as freely as he wanted. He planned to. He had years of revenge ahead of him, for all that he’d been put through.

‘Sweetness,’ Augus said, wishing he could do more for the worn state of Gwyn’s skin. The sunburn and who knew what else turning his eyes bloodshot, his cheeks a painful red. There had been scratches over his scalp and Gwyn hadn’t seemed to notice a single one of them.

‘I’ve never been,’ Gwyn said quickly. ‘To the Unseelie Court.’

‘We’ll teleport to the Gwylwyr Du, and you’ll wait there while I inform Gulvi and Ash. The Gwylwyr Du is sacred, you’re aware?’

‘Yes,’ Gwyn said, no doubt pulling knowledge from any number of scrolls or books that he’d devoured. ‘The black sentinels. We tried to ambush it while you were still in power.’

‘I remember,’ Augus said, smiling wryly. ‘But none of the Seelie could enter. Nor could their weapons penetrate.’

‘I’ll come,’ Gwyn said. ‘But I’ll not be King.’

Augus sighed, watching as Gwyn finished the last of the dried apples and pears. Gwyn looked up expectantly for more, before veiling his expression and putting on the cold facade that helped him cope. Augus was glad to see it, and relieved that he’d seen it so little while it had just been the two of them.

He knew that meant something.

*

Gwyn’s awe at seeing the Gwylwyr Du for the first time forced Augus to look at it anew. He remembered with a pleasant clarity the first time he’d been invited to the Unseelie Court and had gone expecting to be unimpressed, despite having heard stories of the beauty of the Raven Prince’s Court. His first introduction was the Gwylwyr Du, the entranceway that could not be touched by an individual monarch’s magic and stood unchanged over time.

There were two long rows of giant black trees that grew forty metres upwards, their thick black boles dripping a sap that dried and clung to the bark like jewels of red amber. It had a peppery, sharp odour that eased the minds of many Unseelie, and Augus had secretly wanted Gwyn to wait there while he notified Gulvi and Ash in the hopes that it would have an effect on him too.

The canopies above tangled thickly, casting shade over a pale blue pathway made of a crushed stone. It glowed faintly in the dimming light. It was a long path, and the more one walked down it towards the Unseelie throne-room, the darker it became, until finally one looked up and the Unseelie constellations could be seen, bewitched there by magic or some other force. At the end was a gargantuan arched wrought-iron gate. Looking through it on the side of the Gwylwyr Du, one only saw an empty field lit by the moon and its entourage of shadows, but the enchantment disappeared once the threshold was crossed; it became one of the larger entrances into the Unseelie throne-room.

Gwyn forgot his meekness. He walked to one of the trees. He must have been hiding his soreness from Augus taking him, because he showed no signs of it now. Augus knew it would take longer than that to heal. He knew, also, that Gwyn was practiced at hiding physical pain. A knowledge not only acquired on the battlefield, but at home.

Gwyn pressed his nose to the bark and scented it. Dragged his palm across it. Touched the sap where it was wet, making his fingertips appear bloody. He looked down the pathway, looked up at the canopy.

It made Augus angry to watch him only now absorb something that was his birthright, three thousand years late.

‘I’m going to notify Gulvi and Ash,’ Augus said. Gwyn looked through a handful of leaf litter he’d scooped up from the ground. He saw Gwyn pinch up a pale blue mealworm, and as soon as Gwyn’s hand rose to his mouth, Augus made a sound of alarm. ‘ _Stop.’_

The compulsion made Gwyn freeze, his pupils blew out in terror.

‘Gwyn, no, you can’t. Everything here is different. And likely not edible. The Unseelie Court is a safe-haven for some of the most poisonous species in the world. _Drop it.’_

Gwyn’s hand opened, dropped the mealworm. It took too long for the compulsion to wear off after that. They stared at each other. Gwyn looked as betrayed as he had the time Augus had stabbed his fingers into his gut in the Seelie Court. Augus felt stricken. Gwyn wasn’t even thinking properly. There was no way he’d do that if he had full possession of his faculties. Was there still some lingering infection?

It was horrifying, but possible, that this was all still the lingering shock of being newly underfae. The folktales and stories were rife with wise wizards and accomplished soldiers who had been demoted – going off and getting themselves killed through the most foolish of deeds. The lesson was clear: Don’t do something awful enough to get yourself demoted.

But Augus never remembered being so plagued after demotion. Perhaps a combination of having spent so long at underfae status, alongside having six months of acclimatisation in the cell.

‘Don’t eat anything,’ Augus said, ‘and _don’t leave.’_

He quickly walked towards one of the entrance lakes into the Court for all who needed water to teleport. Gwyn watched him go. Augus didn’t miss the way both of his hands were clenched into fists.

*

Augus went to Gulvi first. She was shocked to hear Gwyn was alive, but after her initial disbelief, he could tell she was also pleased, even impressed that Gwyn had been found. He saw not anger, but signs of friendship, camaraderie. It was a relief. He was becoming convinced that Gwyn needed more people in his life who supported him. There were pitifully few of them.

They both went to Ash together. He allowed Gulvi to teleport him, keeping his body relaxed for her clawed grip. She still laughed under her breath, sensing his discomfort, enjoying it. He would have said something, but he held onto himself instead, loathing teleportation through air.

Ash looked up from the book he was reading, marked his spot by folding down the corner of the page. Something long and from the human world, with ‘moral particularism’ in the title.

‘Sooo...you’re not killing each other?’ Ash said. ‘Why the fuck does this not feel like a good development?’

‘I found him,’ Augus said. ‘He’s alive. He’s never been in the Unseelie Court before, he’s waiting in the Gwylwyr Du.’

Ash looked between them both, his expressions flitting from narrow-eyed anger, to a slight frown of trepidation, to something that was almost acceptance. He put his book down and stood up, reaching for his crown. Augus opened his mouth to say something, Gulvi beat him to it.

‘Ash, is that _really_ necessary?’

‘Maybe I just want him to remember that he’s not the boss anymore. Of anything.’

Gulvi and Augus shared a look. At some point, one of them would have to talk to Ash about the plan. Augus thought he could convince Ash. For all that Ash pushed him around, for all that Augus knew he caved to his brother’s demands, Augus had several ways of getting through to Ash and he was partly certain at least one of them would work. But Ash respected Gulvi as well, and Augus wondered if it would be better if he heard the plan from someone who hadn’t just spent a desperate, scrabbling few months looking for his once-captor.

Besides, even with Ash being convinced, Gwyn wanted nothing to do with it.

Augus sighed as Ash affixed his crown, stiff curls falling over sections of it. Gulvi caught his eye, her own black, opaque gaze taking in Augus’ appearance and giving very little back. He would rue the day that he’d become someone who respected Gulvi, because it was clear she disdained him.

‘Be careful with him,’ Augus said, looking at both of them. ‘He’s newly underfae, and his power was never trained. He’s unpredictable.’

‘Fuck,’ Gulvi said. A sharp syllable cutting across whatever Ash had been about to say. She reached out and grabbed Ash by the arm with a proprietary hand, then dragged Ash over and dug the claws of her other hand into Augus’ shoulder.

Augus screwed up his face as he became a brisk breeze. He locked up with tension at Gulvi’s method of teleportation. Bird shifters and their love of wide open spaces, the _sky._ Give him water and murk any day.

They landed several metres away from Gwyn, who spun immediately even as Augus walked forwards, hands coming up with palms outward.

One of Gwyn’s hands rose. Palm out, fingers clawed and shaking, eyes wide. He looked even more paranoid than before.

_Only needs a few minutes to assume we’re coming to murder him. When this is all over, I’m going to rest at the bottom of my lake for a month._

‘Jesus,’ Ash breathed. Augus ignored him, because he knew from the scars that wove their way from Gwyn’s palm to his elbow – those twisted furrows of flesh that were still healing – Gwyn _would_ use his light against them if he felt threatened enough.

‘Ask for asylum,’ Augus said. ‘Listen to me. Say the words; ‘I, Gwyn ap Nudd, ask the Unseelie Court for asylum.’

Gwyn blinked at him in confusion, then looked past him to Ash and Gulvi.

‘Cat got your tongue?’ Gulvi said from behind Augus, but there was nothing mean-spirited in her tone. ‘What a wreck you are. You were _terrifying_ the first time I met you.’

She walked past Augus, ignored Gwyn’s outstretched, shaking hand.

_Well, I’ve never much liked her anyway._

‘Oh, come! You _do_ remember, don’t you? I certainly do. I was hardly ever contracted out to _battle,_ much more suited to one on one scuffles. And there you were. I _went_ for you.’ Gulvi laughed as she remembered it. Gwyn’s hand moved down slightly, a sharp motion. ‘What a feather in my cap you would have been. It was a timely surrender that ended up saving _me_ from _you._ Now look at you!’

‘Asylum,’ Gwyn said quickly, his hand clenching into a fist. He said it as though he couldn’t quite believe what he was saying. ‘I need asylum.’

‘But of course you have it, my _Unseelie_ warrior,’ Gulvi said, her voice warm. ‘Will you nearly kill me again? Darling, we had far more fun with a few ales between us and stories to tell. Do you think you have some? I do. Let me tell you how much fucking fun it’s been, Queen in a dissolved Court.’

She reached out with her clawed hand and took Gwyn’s fist in her palm, wrapping fingers around it. She looked down at the scars briefly, then maintained a steady eye contact.

‘You and I need to have a tiny chat, yes?’

Gwyn’s eyes met Augus’, and Gulvi hissed softly.

‘No, not _him. We_ need to chat. You have some explaining to do. Old Lore? Unseelie? Ring any bells?’

Gwyn swallowed and met her eyes again. He drew himself straighter, though Augus didn’t miss the way Gwyn’s injured shoulder couldn’t stiffen in the same way. The scared creature that they had just seen disappeared behind a mask of cold.

‘If that is what you wish, Your Majesty,’ Gwyn said crisply.

_Court manners. Look at that. Get you back in front of the higher classes, and suddenly this. Crielle trained you well, didn’t she?_

‘La! It is. And if you don’t start calling me Gulvi again, darling, I will _gut_ you.’

‘Ah,’ Gwyn said.

Gulvi encouraged Gwyn away from Augus and Ash, towards the arched double gates of the Unseelie Court. Augus’ ears were straining. A moment later Gulvi waved her fingers impatiently and a sharp breeze sprang up. The wind generated enough noise that anything Gulvi and Gwyn said was muffled. Augus rolled his eyes.

‘He looks bad, hey,’ Ash said, absently.

Augus looked at him in surprise. Ash was watching Gwyn closely.

‘It was supposed to kill him, Ash.’

‘Yeah, but...’

‘Please don’t tell me you’re having one of your dismal attacks of _pity,_ just from this. You’ll argue with _me_ but take one look at him and change your mind? Honestly.’

Secretly, Augus needed Ash to start understanding where he was coming from. Where Gwyn was coming from. He needed Ash to understand that he wasn’t insane, wasn’t driven mad by captivity again. That things weren’t the same anymore. Ash sometimes looked at him as though the Nightmare King had just released him. He couldn’t stand it.

Ash looked at Augus, confusion on his face. Augus shrugged.

‘He’s not had a particularly good time,’ Augus said. ‘Though that statement stands no matter what part of his life you view. Now it’s just _visible_.’

‘He betrayed us,’ Ash said. ‘He _hurt_ you and he betrayed the both of us.’

‘Yes,’ Augus said.

Gulvi and Gwyn had stopped walking. Gulvi talked urgently, making gestures with her hands while Gwyn watched, seemingly impassive. Every now and then he’d open his mouth and answer with a single word. Whatever she was saying, he didn’t like it.

‘He treats people the way he expects to be treated,’ Augus said. ‘He’s injured. His mother has been sending soldiers after him.’

‘Huh? I’m sorry, what?’ Ash said, turning and staring.

‘It’s...’ Augus cut himself off. He grimaced. He turned back to Gwyn, who was speaking more often now. Gulvi had one hand on her hip and the other at her forehead, shaking it. He watched as she looked at him, then reached out as though to...console him? A comradely pat on the shoulder? But she was aiming for his injured shoulder and he stepped back. A pause, and Gulvi and Gwyn stared at each other for a long moment.

When Gulvi spoke again, Augus wished he could lip-read.

‘It’s what? His mom is sending soldiers after him? For what? To bring him back into custody?’

‘No,’ Augus laughed, ‘to kill him. Knowing her, to likely torture him to death. You know I killed his cousin while I was in custody?’

Ash made a small noise in the back of his throat.

‘Wait, Efnisien? The one that got lost in the...in the...some fucking caves somewhere? You _killed_ him?’

‘Underfae versus Court, I was rather proud of that one.’

‘What the fuck, Augus? Were you _trying_ to piss Gwyn off?’

‘No,’ Augus said, turning away from Gwyn and Gulvi. He couldn’t track what they were saying. He hoped it was about Kingship. ‘He was being a nasty, uncouth little boy and I decided to rip his jaw off. Gwyn didn’t mind – he covered it up for me, hence why you think he died in those ‘fucking caves somewhere.’ Crielle didn’t buy it. She’ll ruin him for that and more, if she gets the chance.’

Augus realised how much he was saying and his mouth closed abruptly. With Ash, it was too easy to start talking. He needed to watch what he said around him. He didn’t want to give Ash too much fuel against Gwyn. He wasn’t sure if Ash could see it in himself yet, but Gwyn brought out something predatory inside of him.

_In the both of us, really._

‘And Gwyn didn’t mind? That you killed his cousin?’

_Well, there was that nasty incident with the liver, but let’s never speak about that._

‘Jesus, he’s a fucking sociopath. He really is Unseelie, isn’t he?’

Augus laughed.

‘I don’t know why I bother, sometimes, Ash. I tell you that his mother wants to torture him to death, and you – normally so compassionate, so generous with your _sympathy_ – jump straight to assuming that-’

‘I’m just saying that maybe there’s a _reason_ his family didn’t-’

‘Careful,’ Augus said, his voice turning soft. ‘Insult _him_ if you like. Don’t insult me or my intelligence. And don’t insult yourself in order to pursue a grudge. I raised you better than that.’

‘I’m fucking confused,’ Ash said. ‘I’m just...I am trying. I don’t want to miss something this time, that gets you hurt.’

Augus half-listened. Gwyn had bent over sharply, clutched at his chest. Augus started forwards when he felt a faint shimmer of energy in the ground around him, and then streams of glowing light appeared, coiling and writhing like snakes beneath the surface of the earth, moving towards Gwyn. When the first one reached him, he jerked and then wrapped an arm around himself. Gulvi reached out to him, he stumbled away.

‘Oh no she fucking didn’t,’ Ash breathed, and sprinted towards them. Augus followed at a brisk walking pace. He didn’t see the point in running. He watched the light curiously as Gulvi and Ash started to argue, Gwyn too incoherent to participate. The light wasn’t destroying anything. Augus had seen it not destroy things before. He wondered how many forms it had. What other uses Gwyn could turn it to.

‘Yeah, but fucking _Inner Court?!’_ Ash shouted in response to something Gulvi had said, and she tutted at him as Augus came into hearing range.

‘ _Quoi!_ You get yours, I get mine. It’s only fair. I’ll keep my demotions away from your brother dearest if you can do the same with our unexpected Unseelie surprise.’

‘I didn’t want Inner Court,’ Gwyn gasped, it sounded as though his throat was closing. His skin was glowing bright. He moaned, miserable.

‘Hold onto it,’ Augus said quietly. ‘Hold onto your light.’

 _‘You_ do it,’ Gwyn said, a seething frustration in his voice that gave way to a harsh panting as he clutched at himself.

But after a minute the glow faded and he straightened, exhaled a long, controlled breath. The skin was pinched at the corner of his eyes, the corners of his mouth, and his skin was already worn and tight from all the exposure to the elements it had received. He directed a blank, almost cold look at Augus, but there was something beseeching in his eyes. Augus wanted to reach out to him, wanted to shelter him, console him, break him, bleed him.

His wants had never been very straightforward. So it was good, then, that he wanted Gwyn, who had as many complex and warring impulses as he did.

‘Is this done then?’ Gulvi said, waving a hand at Gwyn and looking almost bored. She strode off ahead towards the double, arched gates, her boots crunching into gravel. ‘ _You,_ when you were made King for that Seelie Court, were supposed to come here immediately after your Coronation to pay respects to the King of the time. You never did, what an insult it was! But then, only an insult to Augus’ Court, so it hardly mattered.’

Augus made a sound of discontent.

‘You haven’t been here before?’ Ash said. ‘Ever? You weren’t curious?’

Gwyn looked over his shoulder at Ash. He turned back again and didn’t answer for a long moment. When they paused at the huge, wrought iron gates, he stopped and looked up.

‘I was curious,’ Gwyn said, something faint in his voice. ‘For as long as I...for a long time.’

‘Unfortunately for you, darling, you’ll have to deal with the shitty Court that Augus made. I’m truly sorry it’s not the Raven Prince’s Court you’ll be seeing. But it matters not! Let’s get this part out of the way.’

Gulvi swung the doors open easily, though they refused to move for anyone less than Inner Court status. She walked through and Ash followed, his head held high. Augus could almost see it – could almost see what Gwyn had envisaged when he’d imagined Ash and Gulvi as King and Queen of the Unseelie Court. Unconventional, but perhaps one day able to grow into their roles. If only Gulvi weren’t so opposed to working within a structured environment. If only his brother hadn’t been so damaged by everything that had happened.

The throne-room appeared, Augus winced to see it. There was truly nothing of the Raven Prince’s Court left marking the place with its beauty. But the space was still grand, cavernous, filled with shadows. It had echoes of stateliness.

Gwyn stumbled to a halt. Augus waited for some comment about how dire the place looked. No servants to receive them. Hardly any cleaning of significance done for some time, even with magic assisting the Unseelie common fae Court-keepers.

‘Oh,’ Gwyn breathed.

‘ _Oui,_ very much. As I said, truly a fine piece of shit. Well done, Augus.’

‘Any time,’ Augus said smoothly. ‘Well done in turn for having had over a year to change it, and having done _nothing.’_

Gulvi’s black eyes lit up with an inner fire and she grinned at him cruelly, her hand straying down to one of her dagger’s hilts.

‘Now, now, you two. Not in front of guests,’ Ash muttered.

Gwyn wasn’t paying attention. He turned in a full circle, looking around in awe.

‘What is it...that makes it feel like that?’ he said, his eyes wide, almost dazed.

Augus’ brow furrowed. Gulvi and Ash didn’t seem to know what he was talking about either.

‘If you mean it doesn’t feel like the Seelie Court, that’s because-’

‘No, I...understand the Seelie Court is abrasive,’ Gwyn said, passing a shaking hand over his forehead. ‘Not that. There is a feeling of...niceness? It’s not the right word. I can’t think of, I’ve never felt anything quite like...’

He took in a great shuddering breath and shook his head.

‘It’s _kind,_ how can the Unseelie Court be _kind?_ The Seelie Court isn’t like this, even to Seelie fae! Am I missing something?’

Augus stared at him, a sinking feeling moving through his gut. Ash went pale. Gulvi stared at Gwyn as though she hadn’t seen him before.

‘Zahakhar,’ Ash said quietly. ‘Oh no. _Fuck_ no.’

Gwyn turned to Ash for an explanation, then to Augus, looking pale behind his sunburnt skin.

Gulvi reached for Ash and nodded quickly at Augus.

‘As in Zahak? The old King of the Unseelie Court?’ Gwyn said, looking at Augus in appeal.

‘I’m going to have a long conversation with my co-King,’ Gulvi said with a forced brightness. ‘ _Au revoir!’_

Ash and Gulvi both disappeared, white feathers drifting down to the ground where they’d been. Gwyn raised a hand in frustration.

‘Could someone explain what’s going on? What’s zahakhar? Tell me. Now.’

‘You’ll need to sit down for this,’ Augus said.

He didn’t wait. He walked away, carefully not looking at the Nightmare King’s throne where it tilted back against the wall. Gwyn followed, pausing when he saw the thrones. Augus kept walking, not bothering to wait. Gwyn could keep up if he wanted to.

They made their way into a small antechamber that lead into the palace proper. Augus led Gwyn to a black marble bench. Gwyn sat, rested his hands on the edge of the bench, fingers curling tightly. Augus sat next to him.

‘What do I need to sit down for? How is it...why did you react that way when I said it feels nice here? Honestly, it’s not at all terrible...it’s-’

‘You have no words for it,’ Augus said, closing his eyes.

_Not in three thousand years..._

‘No! But it’s not bad! I promise you!’

‘Ah, then, you’ll not want to hear this. Zahak was one of our oldest Kings, as you know. One of the good ones. Well, quintessentially Unseelie; we consider that wonderful. He left a legacy that isn’t all recorded for public knowledge. I doubt you’ll have encountered this phenomenon in any scroll. He was a Mage, extraordinarily powerful, and he wanted to resolve any problems associated with monarchy in the future. Of course he couldn’t, no one can, it’s the Unseelie Court. People will get into power however they wish, regardless of the zahakhar.

‘But Zahak created a charm that would create a feeling of homecoming for any future monarch that might enter this Court – to guide the Unseelie Court, to guide future monarchs.’

Gwyn said nothing at all. Augus turned to see his expression, but Gwyn faced the other way.

‘I’ve never felt it,’ Augus said, laughing under his breath. ‘Ash has never felt it. I can’t speak for Gulvi, but I assume she has not. You’ll have to ask her. The last one I know who felt it was the Raven Prince. It was how he knew he was to be King. He once told me he tried to resist it. But the feeling of wellbeing and homecoming was too strong. He was compelled to come back to the Court. The charm is supposed to be quite strong.’

Gwyn took a deep breath.

‘Gwyn.’ Augus hesitated. ‘Gwyn, have you never felt at home before? Not even in your cabins?’

‘Be quiet,’ Gwyn said, his voice weak. ‘I don’t know. I’d never given it much thought.’

‘Don’t give me words like ‘nice’ and ‘kind.’ Perhaps it’s not the zahakhar. Tell me what it feels like. Try.’

Gwyn rubbed his hand over his face and then turned towards Augus, refusing to look at him.

‘After Tigbalan, I came back and you...we fucked. You remember? You stayed with me afterwards, for so long. And I felt something almost, almost like this. As though something was around me, and I couldn’t be hurt. Or not easily hurt.’

Augus was filled with a wave of sudden revulsion and he stood up, baring his teeth in frustration. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. None of his life was supposed to be like this. Not Soulbonds, not falling in love with emotionally stunted fae. _None of it._ He took several deep breaths, ignoring the way Gwyn said his name in concern.

‘Congratulations,’ Augus snarled. ‘Every time I think you can’t get more pathetic, you _manage._ After all this, you-’

‘You’re upset,’ Gwyn said, frowning. ‘Why are you so upset? I believe I should be the one angry that apparently I have stepped into some possibly faux-prophecy about monarchy.’

‘You don’t know what it’s like to feel at home somewhere,’ Augus’ teeth clenched. ‘All this time, and you only know it now because a charm forced it on you. You should have had this! At least _once!’_

Gwyn stared at him, and Augus resisted the urge to drag his nails across the wall, or Gwyn’s face.

‘Twice, maybe, including that time with you,’ Gwyn said finally. ‘I don’t know.’

Augus raised his eyebrows impatiently, waiting for Gwyn to explain himself. Gwyn scratched at the back of his neck, he stared off into the distance.

‘It feels as though...as though...I had a cabin once. The first cabin that became mine when my heartsong turned to wildness. And I thought I would become feral but instead I landscaped the land around the cabin – you saw it – and I...made it mine. I would see it after hunting or ranging or roaming, and it would be as though I had lit a candle inside my own chest, only to _see_ it. Can you imagine? It was such a strange and alien feeling. And I worked so hard to even...get that. It was months in the making. And yet I can come here and through no work at all, feel that same candle. I don’t understand it, Augus. I can feel such a thing now because of a lie?’

‘The charm isn’t a lie,’ Augus said. ‘It’s a resonance. It says you’re meant to be King. It invites you to stay in your rightful home. I have to admit, I’m feeling quite vindicated.’

‘But it means nothing,’ Gwyn said, his voice faint. ‘You, Ash, Gulvi, all in power, clearly it’s not-’

‘Did you never notice that none of us really seem suited to it?’

‘Augus, I am _not_ suited to being a King. I don’t want to rule over anyone. You’ve...’ Gwyn began to laugh. ‘Augus, listen to me, what role do I prefer when it is just the two of us? What King likes to be on his knees with someone’s cock down his throat?’

This again. Gwyn had never been able to reconcile his submissive nature with his authoritative roles. It bothered him. Augus didn’t believe any of it. He’d seen countless high-powered clients that held positions of authority. He knew Gwyn’s attitude was influenced by his parents, by his old heartsong of triumph. That core energy would never have permitted the fact of his submission, and yet Gwyn practically destabilised it himself to find his way to Augus that first time, to ask to be broken and remade. Augus pursed his lips.

‘The Raven Prince used to enjoy being flogged,’ he said, carefully.

Gwyn stared at him. Augus raised an eyebrow in response and couldn’t think of any other example he could use that might illustrate his point. He felt uncomfortable, revealing his intimacies with the Raven Prince like this. But he wanted a particular outcome, and he would use anything in his disposal to get it.

‘Your status has changed, how is your shoulder? And your ass after I took you?’

_‘Augus.’_

Augus smirked.

‘The shoulder is...the same. Perhaps somewhat better, it’s hard to tell. It aches. Everything else is fine. I think. My rib seems to hurt less.’

‘But the pain isn’t gone completely?’

‘No. You’ll like this, Augus, they used an _Ingrit_ blade on the bone.’

Every detail that Augus was learning about the demotion came piecemeal. He’d heard accounts that had spread out of the Seelie Court itself, as they filtered through gossip systems towards the Unseelie Court. By the time they reached the Court, they were all coloured through interpretation. He could only gather that it had been a shock to everyone, that Albion handled himself very well, that Gwyn had collapsed at the end and everyone had found that very shocking.

‘I’ve noticed you avoid the subject of your demotion,’ Augus said. ‘Have you?’

Gwyn’s shoulders hunched.

‘Ah, so you have,’ Augus said.

‘I don’t feel well,’ Gwyn muttered. ‘I don’t remember it being this jarring the first time I went up to Inner Court.’

‘You’re still avoiding the subject,’ Augus said, reaching and curving his hand around Gwyn’s upper arm. His fingers circled more flesh than they used to. Gwyn had lost muscle everywhere. But this was his bad arm, and it had suffered the most. Even touching it made Gwyn tense.

It was Gwyn who moved away from Augus, when Gulvi marched into the room, followed by Ash on her heels. He looked like he was ready for a fight, and he glared at Gwyn with renewed venom. Augus held back a scowl. They were all tired. They all had strong personalities. There was nothing worse than a room full of tired Unseelie fae, ready for a fight.

_Brace yourself._

‘Hey, man, are you okay?’ Ash said, eyes narrowing at Gwyn.

_That was unexpected._

‘Yes,’ Gwyn said. His voice was too weak, Augus frowned.

Gwyn’s knees buckled and his arms came out, but there was no wall nearby to brace himself on. He ended up bowing forward, bent double. Was it his shoulder? Something else? Augus stepped forwards, placed fingers on his arm.

‘It’s nothing,’ Gwyn said abruptly. ‘The status change, I expect.’

But this was not normal, and Gwyn was clearly under some duress. It shouldn’t be _that_ difficult, should it?

Gwyn went down to his knees heavily. A sudden gust of wind, as Gulvi’s wings flared in alarm.

‘Damn it,’ Augus breathed, everything clicking into place. Gwyn wasn’t even struggling to get up again. One hand wrapped around his torso, the other dug fingers into the ground. Augus’ eyes widened in horror. ‘ _Damn._ He was starving before we came here. He’s been starving for months. His body’s using up too much to-’

‘Then shut up and get him to the fucking kitchens!’ Gulvi snapped. She reached out with her hands and looked briefly at Ash – a worried, scared look – before grabbing both Gwyn and Augus and turning them all into a directed breeze before Augus could prepare himself. He felt as though he were falling through a chaos of sensation, the strange feeling of incorporeal fingers in his incorporeal shoulder.

They arrived in the main kitchen, far less stocked than the Seelie palace’s kitchens had ever been. But there were still dried meats hanging from the ceiling and Augus unhooked several, nose wrinkling. Gulvi led Gwyn over to a heavy, wooden bench. Gwyn muttered something about being fine, needing a few minutes. A heavy pulse of alarm was winding its way through Augus’ body. Gwyn was starving to death. Augus knew very well what an abrupt status change could feel like if one hadn’t fed enough beforehand. And Augus wasn’t nearly as hungry as Gwyn when he’d been moved from Capital to Inner Court status by Ash.

Augus thrust cured meats into Gwyn’s hands, noticed how badly Gwyn was shaking as he raised one absently to his mouth and tore into it.

He and Gulvi shared a look. Her face was concerned, eyes squinting with annoyance.

‘How did Ash take the plan?’ Augus said, and Gulvi looked at Gwyn and shook her head.

‘Ash doesn’t want this,’ Gulvi said. ‘Neither of them. I can out-stubborn Ash, because oh, darling, he _never_ wanted this. But nor does this one. And I can’t out-stubborn him.’

Gwyn said nothing, but it was obvious from the faint glare on his face that he didn’t like being the subject of conversation. He ate with increasing voracity, until all Court manners were forgotten and he was simply trying to sate his hunger. Augus would have suggested finding fae to kill with his light, but if that wasn’t holding long enough, perhaps Gwyn needed a dual diet. After all, he’d been surviving for long enough without feeding with his light. Perhaps his body had compensated somehow. He had no idea.

‘We need to find him a healer,’ Augus said. ‘A good one.’

‘With what funds? Unless you can finance one from your own pocket, one that is trustworthy, then you can’t-’

‘Aleutia,’ Gwyn said around a mouthful of sausage. ‘I can pay.’

‘La!’ Gulvi said, with a snarl of anger in her voice. ‘Of course you know about Aleutia. You tried to have her killed, didn’t you?’

‘Yes,’ Gwyn said without compunction. ‘She kept healing the soldiers and Generals I wanted dead. It was very frustrating on campaigns.’

Nothing else was said for long minutes as Gwyn continued to eat. Eventually he got up himself – Augus relieved to see him able to push himself upright – and went straight to the bowl of eggs, cracking each and eating them whole and raw. Augus couldn’t watch, it was disgusting, it was a reminder of reality. This wasn’t the Gwyn he was used to spending his time with. Gulvi watched with a calculating expression on her face.

‘I won’t be King,’ Gwyn said, tossing egg shells into a compost sack. ‘But I can look over that list of noble families for you. We can go through it together. I’d like to go through your ledgers as well. I’m not sure I can be much help, Gulvi. Especially if you won’t accept it.’

‘I’ll take what I can get, darling,’ Gulvi said. ‘But not now.’

‘It won’t take a moment,’ Gwyn said. ‘And then-’

‘ _No_ , Gwyn,’ Gulvi said, her voice turning sharp. ‘You are exhausted, you look _terrible._ I order you to rest. And then to keep eating. This disgusting creature can go with you, if you want him to. Use whichever of the guestrooms you like. Nothing can be done now. You frankly look too ill for me to listen to _any_ advice that you have.’

Augus expected that Gwyn might chafe under the order, as he had under Augus’ compulsions, but instead Gwyn closed his eyes in something like relief. He nodded.

‘I shall organise for Aleutia to come by,’ Gulvi said, scratching at a wing joint. ‘And for more food to be delivered. You say you can afford it? How?’

‘I’ve sequestered funds. Since...I was young. I always thought that my father and mother might disown me and cut me out of the An-Fnwy estate. They threatened it often. I developed a habit of hoarding independently of the Seelie system. I continued later because it seemed an intelligent thing to do.’

‘We could use funding,’ Gulvi said speculatively.

‘Then approach the Unseelie noble families. You must, otherwise they’ll take offense that you’ve accepted funding from-’

‘La! No! What did I _just_ say? If I stay, you and I will end up talking shop over ale, and I’m not interested in anything you have to say while you look like you’ve been pulled through a knothole. _Rest._ We have time. What urgency is there now? The Court already looks like it’s been through several wars and come out the poorer for it. We cannot sink much lower.’

Gwyn nodded, flinched when Augus placed a hand at his elbow.

‘Come along,’ Augus said.

Augus half-expected Gulvi to crow something triumphantly at them, some dig or verbal snipe, but she held onto her words as they walked into the twisted, shadowy depths of the Unseelie Court. Her boots were heavy on the ground as she walked in the opposite direction, likely to find Ash. He could trust her, at least, to talk sense into his brother, to keep him grounded. The amount of times Ash had visited him and told him stories of how Gulvi had talked him out of some crazy plan seemed to happen as often as Ash came and told him stories of how Gulvi had talked him _into_ a crazy plan.

Gwyn didn’t seem to quite believe where he was. Augus could sense him withdrawing into himself.

Without teleportation, it was another fifteen minutes before they reached the heart of the Unseelie Palace. There were spiralling staircases, up and then down again, for Augus had ended up setting his palatial rooms on the ground floor, disliking the sensation of being up in the air. The palace itself had multiple storeys, but the central rooms for himself, his Inner Court, guests; all of that was hidden away, folded into the centre and difficult to find.

Augus decided to find a different room than the one Ash had given him. He opened double doors into a sprawling guest room. A large bed with dark fabrics surrounded by furniture made from the dark red wood of the night cherry. There was a faint odour of dust. It would have to do. Augus ran fingers along the top of a chest of drawers and sighed, rubbing the dirt off his fingers.

Gwyn stood, awkward, looking around.

‘Do the showers work?’ Gwyn said.

‘Yes.’ Augus pointed towards a closed door, a solid panel of black wood. ‘You should find everything you need. Except clothing.’

‘I can wear this again,’ Gwyn said, shrugging. He stood for a while longer, looking at Augus as though he wanted to say something. Augus waited, but Gwyn ended up walking past him, disappearing behind the door without a word. Augus heard the sound of cabinets opening and closing, and then water running. He could sense the scalding heat of it, winced.

He paced, impatient. Gwyn was Inner Court, a healer was coming, things were improved. But the relief he’d felt at seeing Gwyn alive had been washed away with new concerns. Augus had tried so desperately to keep control of himself the night before only to hear Gwyn whisper ‘sweetness’ and lose his way. Yet Gwyn couldn’t even recall having done it. But Augus heard the emotion in the word, felt crushed with rage and affection and a vindictive need to claw his way into Gwyn’s heart the same way that Gwyn had burnt his way through Augus’.

Time passed, thirty minutes or more must have gone by before the shower shut off. By then, Augus was irritated, scraping his claws repeatedly into his palms.

It was on impulse that he stormed through the bathroom door, finding Gwyn in the process of towelling his arms dry. His hair was a wet, curled mess. Gwyn whirled, eyes wide, hand already raising. The underfae instincts weren’t gone yet. Gwyn might be marked by them for the rest of his life.

‘None of _that,’_ Augus snarled, grabbing his wrist and digging his fingers into pressure points. Gwyn made a strangled sound, tensed, fought back.

Their even statuses meant that Augus had to really pit his strength against Gwyn’s, as Gwyn pushed hard against him, tried to twist his wrist out of Augus’ grip. Even weaker, musculature lost, Gwyn was too powerful, and Augus dove for the pressure points under his sternum, knuckling into them and pushing Gwyn back against the wall with force. Gwyn cried out as his shoulder hit tile. Steam was thick in the room, coating Augus’ throat and lungs with a heavy, welcome dampness.

‘Easy, easy, hush now,’ Augus said as Gwyn struggled, his voice a rush of darkness. ‘Settle.’

Gwyn’s head thumped back against the tiled wall, he tried to jerk his wrist out of Augus’ hand. Augus didn’t let go.

‘Fight back, Gwyn. You’re stronger than me.’

Gwyn sagged slightly, looking at Augus, breathing quickly.

‘Get on your knees,’ Augus said.

Gwyn closed his eyes, and Augus turned harsh fingertips into palms smoothing over his wet skin. He moved across his torso until he could point his fingers towards Gwyn’s cock, then leaned in, nostrils flaring.

‘I can feel it, you know. How much you want to surrender to me. That core of yours has been giving you trouble, hasn’t it? Everyone heard about how much you didn’t _fight back_ when they demoted you.’

Gwyn’s eyes flew open, his face twisted in horror. He shoved at Augus, and Augus shoved back, growling at him. Gwyn’s teeth clenched together when his shoulder hit the wall again. Augus drowned the part of him that wanted to be careful, he needed something familiar. Wanted a darkness that felt more like himself.

‘Not _that_ either,’ Augus hissed. ‘Knees. Now. If you can give into _them_ , you can give into me.’

Augus felt himself begin to get hard and exhaled slowly. He wanted the back of Gwyn’s throat spasming around him, wanted not to think about any of the difficulties ahead of them both, the harrowing time he’d spent searching.

_‘Kneel.’_

The compulsion hit Gwyn visibly, even though he was Inner Court. Gwyn’s knees buckled and he forced them back up with a rough noise of effort. He shook his head, eyes shut. When he extricated himself from the compulsion, staring at Augus and breathing heavily, Augus felt a moment of unexpected relief.

He reached up and fisted his hand in Gwyn’s hair, pulling and exerting pressure.

‘I mean it, Gwyn. Did you think we were done with this? Hm? That you would escape my wrath? That you could escape your own need to be hurt? To give in?’

Gwyn whimpered, Augus’ eyes flickered down and saw his cock hardening thick between his legs. He looked in Gwyn’s eyes once more, pushed down forcefully on Gwyn’s head.

Gwyn’s legs gave and he went down to his knees, his back against the tiles. He looked up at Augus, pale eyes wide. Augus returned his gaze, saw a cloaked eagerness behind the cautious way Gwyn stared up at him.

He undid the belt on his pants, slid it off and dropped it the floor, the buckle hitting black tiles with a clang. He stilled when Gwyn raised his fingers to the button of Augus’ pants. They moved against him, sliding down the zipper, eyes watching him. But Augus didn’t look at Gwyn, he looked at the fingers, the shredded nails. Not much had changed there. Gwyn’s nails had always suffered from the way he trained and neglected himself.

‘Hands off,’ Augus said, when Gwyn went to touch his cock. ‘Mouth only.’

Gwyn took a shaky breath, looked aside.

‘Gathering courage?’ Augus said. ‘Really? For cock? But you’re so _good_ at it.’

‘Be quiet,’ Gwyn said, his voice faint.

‘Demoted King, Unseelie, rejected by an entire alignment; don’t you want something to take your mind off things?’

The look Gwyn directed him was furious, his eyes narrowing on a glare. Augus smirked at him, reached down and tangled his fingers up in Gwyn’s hair, the other hand coming down and digging into the pressure point at his jaw, making it go lax. Gwyn jerked, made a small sound of pain, but Augus was already thrusting his fingers into the wet heat of Gwyn’s mouth, claws scratching a familiar path across his throat as Gwyn gagged at the unexpectedness of it. His whole body convulsed, and Augus kept him upright with the grip on his hair.

‘Easy,’ Augus purred. ‘Let me. Look at the response I’m getting just from my fingers. Impressive, don’t you think? Do you think your body knows that you can’t choke to death anymore?’

Gwyn made a sound of protest, but his tongue came up seconds later and curled around Augus’ fingers. His nostrils were flaring with every exhale. Augus tightened his fingers in Gwyn’s hair, and Gwyn moaned.

‘You’ve needed this,’ Augus said. ‘Which is good, because so have I.’

The look Gwyn gave him was almost raw with want, and Augus dug his fingers into Gwyn’s throat with viciousness to see it. To watch him choke while still seeing that want in Gwyn’s eyes.

_Perfect._

Augus slid his fingers back and Gwyn coughed, a hand coming up to his mouth as he caught his breath.

‘Augus, you-’

‘No,’ Augus said, taking his cock in hand and running the pads of his fingers along his length. He fisted himself in his fingers and leaned forward. ‘Open.’

‘Augus, I...’

Gwyn’s eyes squeezed shut, he shook his head. Augus gentled his grip in Gwyn’s hair, massaged his fingers along Gwyn’s scalp carefully, sliding his fingers behind his ear and rubbing where the scratches weren’t as bad. He doubted Gwyn was aware of how he leaned into the touch. It was something he’d almost never allowed himself in the past, but a lot of his barriers were down. He’d been alone, and – Augus suspected – not coped well, for all that he had survived. His eyes skated to the scar on Gwyn’s shoulder, more red, more dark than before after being exposed to the hot water.

‘You didn’t take _any_ care of yourself,’ Augus hissed, using his other hand to grasp at Gwyn’s scarred shoulder. Gwyn tried to hunch away from the touch and Augus’ fingers pressed deeper into ruined tissue. Gwyn whimpered. Augus _knew_ Gwyn had experienced worse pain, knew it because he’d seen Gwyn recover from what Tigbalan had done to him. So some of this – he was sure – was psychological. ‘You didn’t take any care of yourself, so why should I take any care of you?’

‘I did, I did, I tried,’ Gwyn said, shaking his head rapidly. ‘I _tried.’_

‘Did you? You ripped an arrow out of your body. You got shot in the first place!’

‘I didn’t hear them coming,’ Gwyn gasped. ‘I didn’t. I was just...hungry. And tired. I was so tired. I was- I didn’t- I thought I was- _Fuck._ Will you _let go?’_

Gwyn’s voice twisted up and Augus loosened his grip on Gwyn’s shoulder and then moved his hand to the side of Gwyn’s head instead. Gwyn breathed harshly, his chest heaved.

‘I tried,’ Gwyn whispered to himself. ‘I did try.’

Whatever bleak rage had been spreading in Augus’ chest shrunk away, and Augus swallowed. He stroked his thumb over the curve of Gwyn’s ear.

‘Alright,’ Augus said. ‘Let me take care of you, sweetness. I know what you need.’

‘You do,’ Gwyn said, and Augus looked down in surprise when one of Gwyn’s hands curled around his calf. The grip was loose, but it was far more touch than Gwyn usually volunteered when he wasn’t high on arousal. Gwyn’s fingers tightened, and Augus thrilled at the strength in his grip. There was something possessive in it, though he wondered if Gwyn was aware of it. His cock twitched, and he traced Gwyn’s ear one more time before smoothing his palm over the head of himself.

‘I grow impatient,’ Augus said.

Gwyn nodded, took several deep breaths and then turned towards Augus’ groin without any more encouragement. He pressed his shower-hot cheek to Augus’ cock, and Augus saw wet, pale blond hair when he looked down. Saw Gwyn’s nose scenting him. He exhaled and waited, dragged his fingers over Gwyn’s scalp, watching the way Gwyn was disarmed by the touch.

When Gwyn’s mouth – hotter than the steam in the bathroom – opened over the length of him, sucking at the side of his cock, Augus groaned. He closed his eyes, his head tilted back. Gwyn was good at this. He possessed an eagerness to have his face buried between Augus’ legs – _likely anyone’s legs, given his history_ – that couldn’t be forced. Gwyn lipped Augus’ cock, curled his tongue around it, moved his way along the shaft until he could kiss the tip. The scratchiness of his lips made the sensation more acute, and Augus straightened and looked down at Gwyn again, not wanting to miss the sight of Gwyn on his knees like this. He might not have been King anymore, but it still made a beguiling sight.

‘Gwyn,’ Augus said, tugging on his hair, ‘get on with it.’

Lips resting against the tip of his cock became a shaky inhale, followed by wet heat swallowing him. Augus licked his lips, resisted the urge to thrust. That could come later. Already, like this, he felt more grounded than he had in some time. The heat around him was almost scalding, and Gwyn kept taking him into his mouth until Augus felt the head of his cock bump into the back of Gwyn’s throat.

Gwyn hesitated, took short breaths through his nose.

‘What is it?’ Augus crooned, adding his other palm to Gwyn’s head and smoothing over the side of his face. ‘Underfae instincts kicking in?’

Gwyn made a muffled sound of acknowledgement.

‘Let me _help_ you,’ Augus said, grinning. Gwyn tensed, Augus tightened both of his hands in Gwyn’s hair and thrust forwards hard enough that Gwyn was rocked back until his head hit the wall, protected by Augus’ hands. His own hands came up, pawed at Augus’ thighs, but Augus didn’t stop, forcing his way into the narrow space beyond and then down, tilting Gwyn’s head to make the angle perfect. What might have been noises of fright or desperation couldn’t move past the blockage in his throat, and Augus groaned at the vibrations moving around him.

‘Settle, settle,’ Augus breathed as Gwyn dug his fingers in particularly hard. ‘Settle, Gwyn. This is only the beginning, come on now, calm down. Calm yourself, sweetness. You’re Inner Court, you’re fine.’

Gwyn’s throat was contracting around Augus’ length, there was an increased franticness in his movements. Augus’ arousal reached out with thick, delicious tendrils through his whole body. He waited another five seconds before he withdrew, keeping his hands in Gwyn’s hair the entire time.

Gwyn gagged, choked, coughed violently as Augus withdrew until the tip of his saliva slick cock painted the side of Gwyn’s face. Gwyn gasped roughly, small, desperate sounds falling from his mouth. Augus wanted every single one of them.

‘My panicked creature,’ Augus said, his voice smooth. He shifted, looked down. Gwyn’s cock was harder than before, and he shook his head. ‘My panicked creature that just wants to be throat-fucked. Could you be any harder?’

Gwyn was calming his breathing, swallowing down saliva, shaking. He didn’t answer, but turned his head towards Augus’ cock, mouthing it, pressing patterns with a dexterous tongue.

Augus watched, waited, moaning again when Gwyn took Augus’ length into his mouth and then didn’t stop when Augus breached his throat. Once there, the tightness was dizzying. Gwyn swallowed around him deliberately, increasing the pressure, and then tentatively moved back and forth several times before moving back enough to snatch a breath.

And just like that, Gwyn was as practiced as he’d ever been, and Augus had to resist the urge to let his eyes roll up in the back of his head. He didn’t often come from someone putting their mouth on him. He’d had clients do it in the past, and he enjoyed it, but he was often too controlled, too detached, and there weren’t many people that could take him all the way in. He was long, and besides, in the middle of a scene he didn’t like to come before he was satisfied with how his client was progressing. He always had to hold back.

But not now, and he didn’t plan to. After a few minutes, Gwyn moaning as he withdrew and caught his breath, Augus fisted his hands in Gwyn’s hair.

‘I’m going to fuck your throat,’ Augus said, and Gwyn whined. There was something particularly appealing about having Gwyn on his knees, trapped between the wall and his pelvis. ‘Keep your mouth open for me.’

Gwyn rubbed at Augus’ thigh. The movement was fast, hurried. It could have been a request to take it easy. It could have been enthusiastic assent.

Augus didn’t care.

He shifted his hands on Gwyn’s head, finding a better grip, then thrust forward while pulling Gwyn’s head towards him. Gwyn’s throat worked in shock, and Augus bit his lower lip and savoured the sensation of it as he rocked back and forth again, sliding deep into pressure and grinding his hips forward even more, making room for himself in that cramped space, wishing he could rub Gwyn’s throat with his fingers, thumb at his eyes to check if they were wet. But he wanted – needed – the control, and focused instead on taking Gwyn’s mouth, taking his own pleasure.

It was a messy few minutes, Gwyn catching his breath on the rare moments that Augus let him. There was wet sob in one of the sounds that made Augus hum with pleasure, for that was when he knew that the roughness of it had brought Gwyn to tears. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer.

It was with a series of hard, deep rolls of his own hips that he found his release, withdrawing enough to make sure that he spilled in Gwyn’s mouth, not his throat. He shuddered, sensation rolling through him, listening to Gwyn’s hoarse moans, voice breaking. Augus groaned again in response, one of his hands finally softening in Gwyn’s hair, stroking at the drying curls over and over again as Gwyn swallowed his come.

‘Better,’ Augus said, glad for the lack of tremors in his voice, even as he shuddered in pleasure. ‘Better. See? You’re wonderful to fuck no matter what status you’re at, but I do like it when I can hurt you so freely. And so do you.’ Augus slid out of Gwyn’s mouth and kept one hand in his hair, holding Gwyn’s head up and looking at his flushed face, his wet eyes and the tear tracks down his cheeks, his reddened lips – there was a small section that was bleeding, a dry crack that had split again at the force of what Augus had done.

Augus looked at Gwyn’s red, flushed cock and smirked.

‘My, look at that.’

He let go of Gwyn’s hair and stepped back, tucking himself – spit slick but clean – into his pants and zipping them up again. He watched as Gwyn leaned back against the tiles, focused on breathing. After a couple of minutes, Gwyn’s eyes cracked open. Two confused slivers of blue.

‘Augus?’ Gwyn asked, voice satisfyingly rough and used, his brow furrowing.

‘Yes? Problem?’ Augus picked up his belt. ‘Are you coming to bed?’

‘But...’ Gwyn’s eyes flickered to his cock, looking up at Augus again. ‘You...’

‘You need rest, remember? Best not to overtax yourself.’

‘I...’ Gwyn’s brow furrowed further, and then he squeezed his eyes shut as if pained. His hand reached down, and before Augus could stop him, he placed the flat of his palm against his narrow belly. He avoided his cock.

_Look at that. Obedient despite the ache of it. Gwyn, the things I could do to you..._

‘Perhaps I’m still angry with you,’ Augus said, though in truth he wasn’t. Not now. He would be later, but his impatience, his frustration, it had disappeared down the back of Gwyn’s throat. ‘Stand up. Come lie down.’

Gwyn made a small sound of need, and then pushed himself upright with one hand against the back of the wall. He was still hard, leaking. He took several seconds to simply breathe. Augus licked at his teeth, still hungry, still wanting, but able to wait now, at least.

He left the bathroom, undressing quickly. He could trust that Gwyn wouldn’t touch himself, even if he wanted to – not with someone else nearby. Augus had none of his own clothing in this room, but he needed nothing when he went to sleep, and Ash didn’t seem to care if he turned up naked looking for clothing in his old wardrobe.

_He might mind more now that he realises you’re fucking the person that he thinks of as a monstrous captor in the Unseelie Court._

He didn’t slide into bed straight away, waiting for Gwyn who emerged several minutes later. His cock was still hard, but no longer leaking it seemed. Augus turned down the blankets and pointed at pale sheets.

‘Lie down,’ Augus said.

Gwyn did so gingerly, and Augus moved the blankets back over him again. He made sure he ‘accidentally’ brushed Gwyn’s cock through the fabric five times, catching every hitched breath, enjoying himself immensely. Gwyn looked miserable.

In the end, Augus reached out and feathered fingers through his hair.

‘Hush,’ Augus said. ‘Later.’

‘How much later?’ Gwyn pleaded.

‘Later.’

Gwyn averted his eyes, looked beautiful with the combination of frustration and pain that he held tightly to himself. Augus brushed his cock again through the blankets, and Gwyn’s jaw dropped, a gust of air burst out of his throat.

‘Gods, _please,’_ Gwyn moaned.

‘No,’ Augus said, smiling. He stood up and walked around the room curiously. He looked into the extended wardrobe, finding some simple, neutral clothing, fabric wraps. He liked none of them. He looked in drawers. He listened to Gwyn shifting uncomfortably and then growl softly in cut-off annoyance. A full ten minutes passed before Augus came back to the bed. Gwyn was awake, leaning back against the headboard, staring down at his hands.

Augus may have addressed a lot of his own upset, but he knew it wasn’t the same for Gwyn.

‘What is it?’ Augus said. ‘Unsatisfied?’

‘Yes,’ Gwyn said, his voice still rough. ‘But it’s not only that. This place, it doesn’t matter where I am, it feels like I am within someone glamour. But that it is a kind, helpful glamour. I don’t know what to do. This zahakhar, can it be-?’

Gwyn shook his head abruptly.

‘Can it be what?’ Augus said, moving onto the bed and sitting against one of the posts at the base, leaning his back against it.

‘I was going to ask if the charm could be turned off, but realised that I still want the feeling of it. Does that make me greedy? I haven’t done anything to earn it.’

Augus sighed. He didn’t know where to start, sometimes, with Gwyn.

‘I looked everywhere for you, when I heard you’d escaped,’ Augus said, changing the subject. ‘Everywhere. You have...you cannot conceive how haphazard it was, but I was determined. I just want to know _why_ you didn’t tell me where you were? Or send a note telling me you were alive? Something? Even if you were scared of what we might do to you, or frightened of retribution, why did you not...?’

Augus scratched idly at the embroidery beneath his fingers.

‘Gwyn, I gave you the pocket knife when I last saw you. I told you to look after yourself. I have, in some form or other, been by your side for some time now. Did you not think you at least owed me the knowledge that you were taking care of yourself?’

‘But I knew you wanted nothing to do with me,’ Gwyn said, not looking up. ‘I _knew_ that.’

‘Just because you think you know something, doesn’t make it true.’

‘No,’ Gwyn said, looking up at him. ‘No, I _knew._ Augus, I didn’t want to contravene the note your brother sent to me. I was underfae. He’s _King._ I-’

Augus stiffened, and then he leaned forwards as Gwyn’s eyes widened in sudden realisation. Gwyn looked away, his breathing speeding up, and Augus clamped down on a sudden, viscous anger.

‘What note?’

‘Nothing,’ Gwyn said. ‘I misread it.’

Augus’ eyes narrowed. He crawled towards Gwyn, knelt by his side. Gwyn refused to look at him.

‘Misread _what?’_

‘Nothing,’ Gwyn said quickly. ‘It was nothing, Augus. The fact is, we both know I likely wouldn’t have gotten in touch anyway. And so-’

 _‘Tell me what was in that note,’_ Augus hissed, and Gwyn cried out sharply, bowing forwards. Augus lashed out with fingers knotted in his hair, forcibly pulled him straight again. Gwyn was shaking, resisting the compulsion. He had the barrier back, it seemed, but every compulsion rocked him.

 _‘Tell me,’_ Augus said again, laying the compulsion with another. Gwyn whined high and thin, and then Augus’ eyes widened when a trickle of blood spilled from Gwyn’s nose.

Augus let go of Gwyn’s hair abruptly, touched the blood with a careful finger. There wasn’t much. A burst blood vessel. It wasn’t that uncommon, but he’d never seen Gwyn have to exert so much energy – indeed any at all – to fight back against the compulsions.

‘I will compel you again,’ Augus warned. ‘And you won’t go another round of compulsions until that barrier of yours is stronger.’

Gwyn exhaled something like a sob. He sniffed and then wiped at his nose with his fingers.

‘He told me that you were safe,’ Gwyn said. But it was obvious now that Gwyn was omitting something. Augus growled, the sound deep, rumbling through the bed. Gwyn wiped at the blood under his nose and shook his head rapidly. ‘It’s _nothing,_ Augus. He told me...that you didn’t want anything to do with me anymore. I believed it. I only wanted...I only wanted you to be safe.’

Augus didn’t move, didn’t say anything. It occurred to him that there was far more malice going on with Ash’s actions towards Gwyn than he’d anticipated. Ash had said that the shadows had changed him. He had to hunt far more than usual – more even than Augus – and was more in touch with his predatorial instincts than ever before. Not only that, but Gwyn had become the target for some of Ash’s most difficult and least savoury emotions. But he hadn’t expected that Ash would do something so spiteful. Which was ridiculous. Ash was a predatory waterhorse, Augus had raised him – if he was angry enough, he could be _very_ spiteful.

Beneath the faintest sensation of being impressed at how underhanded Ash had been about it, he was irritated. More than anything, angry that Ash was so convinced Augus couldn’t look after himself, that he felt he had to take matters into his own hands. Gwyn could have died, and Augus might never have known and Ash...

_Would he have felt vindicated? Perhaps it’s time you found out how badly Ash wants him dead. Perhaps there are greater threats here than you realised. Damn it, Ash..._

‘Hm,’ Augus said, and then sighed. ‘It was before you were demoted?’

‘Yes,’ Gwyn said, his knees bending and one of his hands going around them both. ‘He was trying to keep you safe.’

‘That’s not up to him,’ Augus snapped. ‘It’s not up to anyone. I keep myself safe. And if I fail at that, then no one else answers to it except _me.’_

Gwyn’s eyes narrowed, his gaze slid to Augus’. Augus had the distinct, uncomfortable sensation that he was being dissected. There was no way Gwyn should have been alert enough to manage a look so calculating.

‘Is that so?’ Gwyn said, legs straightening, turning towards Augus. ‘I couldn’t help but notice that this entire Unseelie Court doesn’t adhere to the old Raven Prince’s vision of it. That it is – as Gulvi said – your vision. But it was never your vision, was it? This place doesn’t belong to you.’

Augus’ jaw ached as he ground it. Gwyn scooted towards him and placed a hand on Augus’ arm where it was braced against the bed. He used the arm of his injured shoulder to do it, and Augus couldn’t help track the stiffness of the movement, even as he chafed beneath the touch.

‘I heard what you said to Gulvi. That it hadn’t been changed in over a year. So you must have come back here, after your release, to a place that – last you had seen it – had only-’

‘Don’t,’ Augus snapped.

‘The reminders of him are everywhere,’ Gwyn said, and Augus bared his teeth at him, grasped at Gwyn’s other wrist – the one whose scars were already turning pale and soft under his Inner Court healing – and dug his nails in. Gwyn winced, flinched.

‘I said _don’t.’_

‘It’s me,’ Gwyn said, bewildered. ‘It’s me, Augus. I know you don’t like anyone seeing you vulnerable, but you’re not being vulnerable right now. I’ve seen you catatonic, remember? What did you only tell me a day ago? That you’ve had knives buried in me, because of these things.’

‘Your point?’ Augus said sharply.

‘Only that I wanted you to know that I’ve noticed. I know you don’t talk to people about these things. And you have your brother now, of course, and I imagine you’d go to him first. But I have noticed. This place affects you. Can you not push Gulvi and Ash to change it?’

Augus let go of Gwyn’s wrist. He shook his head. He adopted a faintly mournful expression.

‘It is difficult. Maybe, I thought...if you were King...’ Augus said, and Gwyn jerked backwards. He let go as though Augus had bitten him.

‘That’s low, Augus. Even for you.’

‘Is it?’ Augus said, abandoning the pretence of vulnerability. ‘It remains true. You could have this place changed in a day. I’ve seen you with palace permissions. It’s the only way it would happen. Gulvi and Ash’s sense of interior design will never synchronise. This place will look like a shadowed, darkened mess forever.’

Gwyn’s lips pressed together, he glowered. But Augus realised there was truth to it. He swallowed. He couldn’t stay in this Court if it continued to look this way. There were too many bad memories attached to the shadows, attached to certain dips in walls, behind particular doorways.

Augus pulled back the blankets, looked at Gwyn’s worn body, his cock where it lay limp between his legs, startlingly fragile. Gwyn hadn’t put on any musculature after being put back up to Inner Court status, which meant that all of Gwyn’s natural, muscular build – _all_ of it – was his own. It was startling. His hair was starting to look healthier though, at the roots. His sunburn was healing already. The wounds at his forearm where he’d used his light were fading.

Augus trailed his fingers up Gwyn’s thigh as Gwyn watched him, something cautious in his gaze.

‘Does it hurt?’ Augus said. ‘The feeling of home? Of homecoming?’

The last he saw of Gwyn’s face, as he ducked his head, was Gwyn swallowing visibly and his mouth parting. He pressed his lips to the hollow beneath the last of his ribs, licking at the shower-fresh skin, tasting it. He scraped his bottom teeth against it, too light to be anything but the faintest of threats. Gwyn shuddered beneath him anyway, and Augus smirked as he trailed his fingers closer to Gwyn’s cock.

Gwyn didn’t reply.

‘Your parents did you a grave, unforgiveable wrong. And then punished you for their mistakes, for thousands of years. Your mother’s still doing it.’

Gwyn shifted up onto his elbows, his breath shaky as Augus kissed slowly down Gwyn’s belly, mouthing the vulnerable skin, knowing exactly how he would tear into his viscera. He couldn’t be near people’s softest parts and not know how to rip them to shreds. It was a gift he gave, to be tender, to offer the firmness of his lips and the trail of his tongue. His hair clinging to Gwyn’s skin.

His fingertips trailed lightly against the side of Gwyn’s stiffening cock.

Augus made a decision, in that moment. He paused, something old and ancient and angry surfacing inside of him at the thought of it.

_Everything is different now, remember?_

He kissed his way to the crease where thigh met hip, slid his tongue along it, caught Gwyn’s choked breath and the jump of muscles beneath his skin. His fingers found the soft skin of Gwyn’s balls and traced over them, massaged gently. Gwyn gave a sound that Augus had heard dying people make.

_‘Augus...’_

‘Sweetness,’ Augus whispered and Gwyn made the sound again. Fainter now. But each of his inhales were huge, giant things.

Augus’ mouth continued inwards, towards Gwyn’s cock. Augus felt something strange and frail in his own chest, and knew he could smash this moment apart. He knew he could simply refuse to do this. To _never_ do it, as he’d never willingly done it in the past.

But he was curious, and Gwyn was already twitching and gasping above him.

Gwyn whole body locked up when Augus pressed closed lips to the side of his cock. And then Augus’ eyes narrowed as he smelled fear, metallic and cold, rolling up from Gwyn’s heated skin.

‘You can’t,’ Gwyn said, his voice shaking. ‘You can’t. I’m not, you don’t have- I’m not- I wouldn’t make y- _Augus.’_

_Ah...there it is. Guilt._

‘I know I don’t have to,’ Augus said, each of his breaths landing on the skin beneath his mouth. ‘However, I have two conditions.’

Augus looked up and felt somewhat satisfied at the apprehension on Gwyn’s face.

‘ _Don’t_ touch my head, and _don’t_ ask for more.’

‘Anything, Augus. Anything,’ Gwyn said, sounding so eager that Augus almost wanted to purr. Especially as Gwyn still had that fearful expression on his face, his eyes still wide and disbelieving.

Augus pressed his lips back to Gwyn’s cock, keeping his tongue inside his mouth, simply feeling the heat of Gwyn’s erection, the texture of his skin. It was very different, doing it this way. And with no pushy hands in his hair, no force on his scalp, it didn’t feel as demeaning. If anything, with Gwyn shaking and making small choked off noises as he sank back to the bed, feeling the sheet tighten beneath his body as Gwyn clenched it up in his fingers, he felt powerful.

He took his time kissing his way to the top of Gwyn’s cock, and then touched his teeth to the flare at the base of the head. Hardly any pressure at all, certainly not enough to be painful. Gwyn moaned sharply, a moment later the sound cut off. Augus withdrew and looked up, and Gwyn was staring up at the ceiling, his own hand over his mouth.

‘Move it,’ Augus said, command suffusing his voice. ‘Move your hand away. I want to hear you.’

Gwyn’s hand clenched and splayed, and then he moved it down to his side. His chest was heaving. He didn’t make eye contact.

‘Why do you like this so much?’ Augus said, curious. ‘I’m hardly doing anything at all. I’m certainly not going to deep-throat you. I shan’t be swallowing your come. Anyone would think you’ve never been touched before.’

Gwyn moaned, was _trembling._ Augus curled his fingers around the base of Gwyn’s cock and squeezed, and Gwyn jerked where he lay on the bed.

Not just sensitive, but over-sensitive. He’d made Gwyn wait, after all. But this was a level of over-sensitivity he hadn’t quite expected.

‘When was the last time you came?’ Augus said suddenly. ‘Not counting yesterday?’

‘Please,’ Gwyn said, and then shook his head when Augus said nothing, did nothing, in response.

‘When?’ Augus’ mind raced as he tried to think of the last time he’d had Gwyn in the Seelie Court. Gwyn had shut down after the Soulbond, which meant that the last time Gwyn had been touched with anything like care – not counting yesterday, and they were both a little too dazed to make the most of that – was...

_Oh, Gwyn. Sweetness. No._

‘After...after...when you crept up on me, with the invisibility.’

Augus’ head dropped. He should have known. He should have _known._

‘My dear heart, wait for me,’ Augus said. ‘Just wait a bit longer, alright?’

 _He didn’t say anything when I told him ‘later.’ He didn’t even_ ask. _Damn it._

‘Anything,’ Gwyn said, and Augus swallowed, lowered his head to Gwyn’s cock again. He sucked where the head of his cock met the shaft, increasing the pressure until it had to be painful. Gwyn’s legs bent, his hips were taut, the sheets growing tighter in his grip. There was the faintest hint of a sound.

Gwyn cried out when Augus began to lick lines along his cock. His voice fell into silence when Augus curled his tongue around the tip, and then kissed him as thoroughly as he might kiss his mouth. At no point did hands find his hair, Gwyn didn’t thrust upwards – though Augus could feel the strain in his hips, knew he wanted to.

He wrapped his hand around Gwyn’s slick, pulsing length and started a firm, languorous rhythm even as he arched over Gwyn and looked at the way his eyes were squeezed shut, the redness of his lips where he must have dragged his teeth over them. The split in them still bleeding. Augus leaned down and kissed at it, tasted metal and ozone.

 _‘Please,’_ Gwyn said, his voice breaking.

Augus’ shifted his grip on Gwyn’s cock so that his palm rubbed over the head of him with every stroke. Gwyn was practically writhing beneath him now, and Augus wished he had a cross, toys, restraints, _something._ Because this was a Gwyn he wanted to torment, to pull out over-sensitive response after over-sensitive response until Gwyn was screaming for him. But he would get that. He would.

And it had been a long day for the both of them.

‘Break for me,’ Augus growled, squeezing his hand to the point where he knew it would hurt. Gwyn bucked beneath him, his eyes opened unseeing, head tilted back on pillows. ‘Come on, Gwyn. Stop holding back. I can hear that you are.’

Gwyn’s hands both let go of the sheets at the same time, and his palms flew up and were covering his face before Augus could tell him to stop. And just as Augus opened his mouth to order him to move his hands, Gwyn’s hips bucked hard twice into Augus’ hand and liquid heat spilled hot over Augus’ palm and fingers, spurted onto Gwyn’s belly. The sound Gwyn caught with his own hands was wrecked and _loud,_ still imprisoned.

Augus watched him, mouth turning down at the corners. He rode out Gwyn’s orgasm with him, moving his hand, milking him, drawing out every last muscle spasm, shiver and hitched breath. And then Gwyn went limp, and Augus kept his hand over Gwyn’s cock, possessive.

Augus knew something was wrong. He waited. Gwyn wouldn’t move his hands away from his face. He wouldn’t _look_ at where he was. The Unseelie Court. Wouldn’t look at Augus.

‘You need some sleep,’ Augus said, but didn’t move.

‘I can’t,’ Gwyn said, voice rough. He’d moved his hands enough to speak, but kept them over his face. He looked like a child trying to hide from the world. Augus sighed. He wanted things to be easier than this. But he knew better. Things were _never_ easy. Certainly not now. ‘I don’t have a gag.’

Augus’ brow furrowed. He tilted his head at that, confused, and then his eyes widened.

‘You didn’t,’ Augus said, mind putting the puzzle of that statement together. Gwyn as underfae would have needed more sleep, but his nightmares were harrowing, _loud,_ and... ‘Tell me you didn’t _gag_ yourself.’

He shuddered at the thought.

‘I had to,’ Gwyn said.

 _I have a feeling I’m not going to like_ any _of the details of Gwyn’s demotion or the time after. I’ve not liked any so far. Honestly._

‘You don’t need that now. No one’s going to hunt you here.’

‘But...’ Gwyn’s voice broke again, and Augus let go of Gwyn’s cock and slid up his body until he could cage Gwyn’s head with his forearms. He looked down at Gwyn, frowned at him.

‘Tell me,’ Augus said.

‘If I sleep, I’ll wake up,’ Gwyn said, voice strained. ‘And I’ll _wake up._ And this will be gone.’

Augus’ eyes closed. His forehead rested on Gwyn’s knuckles where they were pressed over his face. Gwyn wasn’t like him. He didn’t freely offer endearments once he knew he loved someone. He didn’t display his care like that; and he didn’t take those sorts of risks. But there were signs of it everywhere, and Augus couldn’t miss them. And this one clutched at him, hurt him, made him feel like he was in unfriendly waters and didn’t know how to navigate.

‘Nothing will be gone. I promise,’ Augus said. He pressed his lips to Gwyn’s fingers. But he could feel it himself, couldn’t he? There was a shakiness to them both. They had hardly learned how to be around one another when they were both stuck in the Seelie Court. Now, in their current situation, he felt as though he was learning Gwyn all over again. And in some ways, he was. He was scarred, hurt, he carried new wounds with him, inside and out.

But he still tasted and smelled like Gwyn. Still reacted the same way. Still looked at Augus with that naked want in his eyes.

‘You’ve forgotten something important,’ Augus said, his voice smoothing out.

‘What?’ Gwyn said, sounding lost.

‘You never have good dreams.’

There was a pause, and then Gwyn laughed weakly. His hands slid away from his face and Augus looked at him, found his eyes.

‘I don’t,’ Gwyn said. ‘I never do.’

‘You need the sleep,’ Augus said. ‘You need a proper sleep cycle, don’t you?’

Gwyn’s face became oddly composed, and he nodded grimly. Augus thought that Gwyn faced sleep the way soldiers might face the enemy.

They didn’t say anything else. Not even when Augus went to get a cloth from the bathroom and wiped at the sticky mess of come on Gwyn’s belly and his hands. Augus took it back into the bathroom, rinsed it, came back and laid alongside Gwyn as he drew the blankets up over them both. He slid his hand around the back of Gwyn’s neck absently, looking for a scar, and felt nothing from the bite he’d unleashed on Gwyn’s skin.

_I’ll just have to find other ways to leave my mark on him._

‘You seem strangely alright with being here, being in an Unseelie Court, being one of us.’

Gwyn nodded slowly, his movements slurred under the weight of his tiredness.

‘Augus, everyone knows. I’ve had people shouting it at me. I’ve not been able to run away from it, I was too busy trying to run away from _them.’_

Augus rested his head on Gwyn’s good shoulder and looked across his chest. He placed his hand over Gwyn’s heart. The beat was normal, even slowing. Augus rubbed soothingly and Gwyn hummed in response.

‘At least they don’t know you’re here,’ Augus said, closing his eyes.

Gwyn said nothing, then grunted softly.

‘There’s a tracking spell on me. I’m sure that they do.’

‘We’ll get a Mage. Break the spell.’

Augus yawned. He draped a possessive thigh over Gwyn’s legs. He turned his head slowly and then bit hard at Gwyn’s skin. Beneath him, Gwyn’s breath hitched. Augus’ eyes widened in shock when a hand carefully rested on his back. He couldn’t believe how much more forward Gwyn was being. He still couldn’t really ask for what he wanted, but even this much progress was welcome. Augus pressed his back into Gwyn’s hand, and Gwyn curled his fingers, moved his hand clumsily.

‘I thought about you,’ Gwyn said, his voice sleep soft, the words a connected blur. ‘I tried not to. It hurt a lot. But I did anyway.’

‘Good,’ Augus said, moving closer. He had a brief moment to wonder how Ash might react if he found them both, and then decided he didn’t care about that either.

‘It’s so nice here,’ Gwyn said, tiredness making his words vulnerable. ‘Can I stay even if I’m not King?’

Augus cleared his throat, squeezed his eyes shut.

‘My dear heart, do you not understand how asylum works? It’s been granted to you. You can stay here forever, if you wish, until you’re safe again.’

‘I’ll never be safe,’ Gwyn said on a faint exhale, before dropping off into the sleep he’d been fighting back.

Augus waited several minutes, feeling the slower thump of Gwyn’s heart, listening to the even cadences of his breathing.

‘Then perhaps you might just stay here forever,’ Augus said.

When he realised he was essentially cuddling Gwyn while he slept, he laughed under his breath, too tired to shake his head at himself. Contempt and disdain and affection moved liquid and soft through him, lulled him until he tipped over into a doze, glad for the beat of Gwyn’s heart against the palm of his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, 'Consultation:'
> 
> ‘Dude, you forget. I’m like...the King. If I command you to let me compel you, and you refuse, that’s treason. And I can lock you up. ’


	44. Consultation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty folks, I can't believe we're so close to the end! This chapter has no new tags (there's gonna be none until the sequel so I can probably just stop saying that). Remember to read the end-notes (at the end), and ah, otherwise enjoy! This one's a long one, with lots of stuff. *bounces like a bouncy ball.* 
> 
> While I'm full of thanks for everyone who reads, I'd like to offer an extra thank you to those who take the time to comment, whether here or at Tumblr. Feedback is really the only way I know I'm doing anything worth putting online, outside of self-validation, and of course some writers like myself have periods where it's hard to self-validate, and sometimes a comment is all it takes to remember that this matters to some people. So, really, thank you. <3

Gwyn and Augus stood in one corner of the room, staring at the charred, blackened corner on the other side. Augus’ lips pursed, as though a bedraggled pest had crept into the room overnight. Gwyn stared at the damage he’d wrought with horror. He looked down at his own hand – cracked flesh already healing – then back at the blackened crater he’d blasted into the corner of the room.

‘Well, no one’s come running yet, so maybe no one heard,’ Augus mused.

‘Augus, I could have _hurt_ you. I was aiming for you!’

‘I have fast reflexes,’ Augus said, then sighed. ‘I’ll not be trying to wake you from a nightmare until this habit of yours is gone.’

‘It’s not a habit!’ Gwyn exclaimed, turning away from the blackened mess. That left him facing Augus, who seemed completely nonchalant at Gwyn having dazedly – still in the throes of a nightmare – shot an arc of light at Augus. ‘Augus, you could care more about nearly having been _killed.’_

‘If I cared more about nearly being killed around _you,_ this would be an entirely different relationship,’ Augus said crisply. ‘I don’t imagine anyone woke you lovingly while you were on the run. It doesn’t matter. There’s other guest rooms. That corner of the room is clearly _dead._ Perhaps you could do that to the entire Unseelie Court and _force_ Gulvi and Ash to change it. Although, knowing them, they still wouldn’t.’

Augus made a sound of frustration under his breath.

For all that Gwyn was disgusted with Augus’ attempt to play the sympathy card the night before, Augus _was_ stressed in the Unseelie Court. More than he’d ever seemed in the Seelie Court, at least once he’d settled into his rooms and had clothing again. Augus didn’t need to create a facade to generate sympathy. He had Gwyn’s sympathy already.

Gwyn kept waiting to feel panic, nausea at using his light, but it was muffled under the feeling of warmth that sailed along his veins. A warmth that didn’t burn, didn’t scour his cells. He’d likened it to a candle. There were times when Gwyn had slept in the kennels with the hounds as a child, on straw of varying freshness. It had been warm and sweet, smelling strongly of dog and horse manure from the stables nearby. Gwyn had often wanted to take that feeling elsewhere with him into the world. But was that a feeling of home? The zahakhar felt like an exaggeration, and Augus admitted that he’d never felt it before, so perhaps it was different.

‘We both need clothing,’ Augus said.

‘I left mine in the bathroom.’

‘And? _’_ Augus said, taking in the corner of the bedroom again. Gwyn refused to look at it. He’d seen what had happened to the first An-Fnwy estate, he knew exactly what he’d done. He looked at Augus – who didn’t look back at him – and then walked past him into the bathroom, dressing quickly. He missed clothing that fit. Perhaps he could hire a tailor. He didn’t know any Unseelie tailors, he didn’t know how well he’d be received by them.

Augus said that the Unseelie thought he was clever for having deceived the Seelie Court for so long. Gwyn shook his head. Would that endear him to a tailor? Or just make them scared of him?

When he emerged from the bathroom, Augus was as naked as he’d been before. Gwyn halted. He didn’t know what to do. If this were the Seelie Court, there would be work, paperwork, fae to see, to hold counsel with. Or he might go exploring, might work on his maps. He would train with his sword or work on shaping longbows. There would be a bevy of things to do.

He was curious about the Unseelie Court itself, wanted to wander and explore, to find libraries, armouries, the secret rooms that Courts seemed to have.

He had to meet with Gulvi. He had offered his services, what little use he thought they might be. Perhaps then they would see that he wasn’t suited to this at all and leave him be. He could maybe acquire a small, obscure corner of the Court. He could train others, perhaps. He was good at translating texts. He was sure they could find something for him to do, in exchange for the asylum offered.

‘I need to speak with Gulvi,’ Gwyn said. ‘I can’t just sleep in rooms like this and do nothing.’

There was awkwardness between them again. The blackened corner of the room, the uncertainty over how to spend their days; neither of them had roles now. Augus had always preferred routine, small activities to keep himself focused. Gwyn liked a job to do.

‘I’m going to get funds for the healer,’ Gwyn said, realising that he could teleport easily now that he was Inner Court.

‘I need to find Ash,’ Augus said.

Gwyn wanted to say something about the night before. About how generous Augus had been, how much sensation Augus had found in Gwyn’s tired body. But the words locked up like tiny tadpoles under his tongue and he couldn’t let any of them go. Only one sentence emerged.

‘Am I able to teleport back into the Court?’

‘It’s safest if you aim for the outer Court only,’ Augus said. ‘The Gwylwyr Du, can you do that?’

Gwyn nodded.

‘You’re Inner Court,’ Augus said, ‘you’ll be able to open the gates to get back in. By the way? If you _don’t_ come back and I have to go looking for you, I will cut you open, remove your intestines and shred them repeatedly all while your Inner Court healing makes you well again. Do you understand me?’

Augus tended to make empty threats when he was angry, but there was something in the cold glint of his eye that indicated he might be serious enough to try. Gwyn’s belly clenched. After all, he’d had Augus’ fingers in his gut. He’d felt them shifting amongst his organs. He shivered.

‘Ah, wonderful, you do understand,’ Augus smiled, though it never reached his eyes. ‘Remember you have a tracking spell on you. That’s what you said.’

‘I do,’ Gwyn said, nodding. ‘I’ll be quick. The spell seems to work on a delay. I always seemed to get a day or two in a new location. And they were taking longer to gather soldiers together while I was living on the Blighted land. As it is, I expect to be less than an hour.’

Gwyn wanted to say something else, to reassure, but he was still bewildered that things were going so well in his estimation. Gulvi hadn’t directed him down to the prisons. Augus seemed uninterested in getting any sort of revenge for how he’d been treated.

He teleported away.

As soon as the zahakhar released him from its grip, he felt a corresponding clench of loss in his whole body. He already missed it.

*

Why did he hide so much treasure underground? He tried to swallow down the thick, sour lump in his throat. This was ridiculous. Complete darkness had _never_ bothered him in the past. Perhaps it was just the shock of the zahakhar wearing off.

_Get a hold of yourself._

Gwyn’s breaths edged towards the uneven – hissing inhales and rapid exhales. His fingers trailed along the damp wall. He tried to concentrate, but with his sight deprived, the loudness of his breathing seemed almost deafening.

The corridor opened into a much larger cavern – still with no source of light. He could hear water dripping slowly nearby. At least he was in the right place.

He let go of the wall, struck out ten steps towards what he remembered as the centre of the giant space. The darkness around him was a tactile, palpable _thing_ that reached out smoky, dusty tentacles into his eyes, ears, nose. It poured into his throat until he felt weakened by it, until he could feel it in his lungs. He shook. Gasped.

_Twenty steps northwest. Snap out of it, you useless creature._

He counted out the steps, traced a complicated pattern of directions in the huge, empty space. He hurried, and was grateful when he stretched out his hands and found the opposite wall and a very narrow corridor.

He turned sideways into it. The fit was easier than it used to be, he was thinner. He still had to creep in total darkness, damp and heat pressing into him. He kept his eyes closed. It was better than leaving them open in total darkness.

He reached a narrower section and forced himself through. At the tightest point, rock pressing like a fist into his back, his heart galloped like a fleeing animal. He felt dizzy. Large grey-white blotches flared in his vision. He pressed his lips together, rested his forehead against damp stone.

_Not long. Get it done._

He took a deep breath, continued. If they sent someone after him with cave vision, or worse, one of the animal shifters with infrared vision and electromagnetic sensors, he’d be an easy target. He’d never see them coming.

They could be here right now.

He held his breath, rolled his eyes at himself. He would have _heard_ them, _sensed_ them. Even with the loudness of his breathing, his senses were back to a higher standard. Inner Court was a potent status. After all, it was the status designated to those putting their lives on the line for royalty.

He began touching the wall after some time had passed. His palms and fingers crawled over dirt, rock, something cool and gelatinous – possibly an underground slime mould.

Nausea and dizziness were frantic bats swooping through him when his index finger snagged on the small crevice. He thrust his hand into it, pushing his arm forward to the shoulder, splaying his fingers until he felt what he was looking for, exactly where he’d left it last time; a heavy black bag with small items within that clinked and rattled with a cheery loudness. He shifted the bag until it rested in the palm of his hand, withdrew his arm carefully.

It was the cell. He knew it. He closed his eyes, thought of the Gwylwyr Du and had rarely been so grateful for his light as it teleported him back between the tall, imposing black rows of sentinel trees. He sagged as soon as his bare feet hit crushed gravel, gasped for breath.

He was claustrophobic because of that stupid _cell._

It was ludicrous, beyond bearing. He’d been captured, imprisoned, tortured, and now...

‘You’re losing your touch,’ Gwyn muttered.

‘I’ll fucking say,’ a woman snapped nearby.

Gwyn bolted upright, his hand came up defensively, his light crackling in his gut. But the hand he used to attack was holding the bag of gems and other treasures. He hesitated. He dropped his arm when he realised who it was.

Aleutia, the rat-maiden, was squat, full-figured. Her many layers of clothing signalled the cold region in which she lived. Her thick, curly brown-red hair matched the fur on the back of her large rat ears. Even in human-form, she still had a long tail, clever rat fingers, beady eyes, a nose that was closer to a snout. Her ears twitched as she stared at him, and then her mouth quirked. There was something sharp in her gaze.

‘Should I diagnose you with panic attacks?’

‘I’m not having a _panic attack,’_ Gwyn said, affronted.

‘ _Touchy,’_ Aleutia tilted her head. ‘Maybe I’ll diagnose you with whatever the hell I want. Except I take my job seriously. That’s why you once tried to kill me, right?’

‘Yes,’ Gwyn said, staring as she marched towards the arched, iron gates.

‘Uh huh, it didn’t work. I’m hard to kill.’

‘I did notice at the time,’ Gwyn said. She scratched absently underneath her own chin, whiskers pushing forwards in pleasure. In her other hand she carried a large, green, healer’s box. ‘Can I trust you to not poison me?’

‘Nope,’ Aleutia said, flashing long front teeth at him when she grinned. ‘But if you pay me well enough, you can trust in _that.’_

Gwyn glared, walked towards the arched gates without another glance. He’d long held a wariness around healers. Ever since he was young, it was imperative that he hide the truth of himself from others. Healers had that odd ability to run their energy through bodies, searching for disease, dysfunction. He lived, paranoid, that one day a healer would be good enough to sense either the aithwick, or that he was Unseelie. Feeling their energy – no matter how good-natured – scan through his body sent a chill of dread through him.

‘Oi!’ Aleutia called, jogging slightly to keep up. ‘Not all of us have your long legs. You could be a little more considerate.’

Gwyn slowed his steps, glowered at the wrought iron gates. She’d seen him vulnerable. She knew a weakness. It scraped at his skin to know that he hadn’t even sensed her there in the first place. He couldn’t just blame that on being underfae for a few months. He was off his game with his training, his tracking. It had been months since he’d last hunted a worthy quarry. He’d avoided military engagements towards the end of his Kingship in the Seelie Court.

‘So who’s gonna get the gates for us? Should I get-’

Gwyn swung the gates open, his heart in his throat. He was sure it wouldn’t work. Yet they walked through the gates without a hitch, and they clanged shut behind them once Aleutia and Gwyn were no longer in the way.

‘Inner Court, huh? People have been waiting over a year to see if Gulvi and Ash were gonna pick anyone, and they pick _you?_ I mean, that disgusting waterhorse I can understand, he’s brothers with the nice one. But _you?_ Guess those rumours are right. I gotta say though, if I were in power, I would’ve locked you in a cell and just tortured the secrets out of you.’

‘You’ve been in the field too long, Aleutia,’ Gwyn said.

He could relate. That’s exactly what he would have done. Except, perhaps, that he would have used torture last. Tortured people told lies far faster than those lulled by food, water, shelter, extensions of barely intended kindness. And the most honest people were those whose loved ones were threatened.

‘I didn’t want to fucking retire when _you_ wanted me to. Also your retirement party was crap. You sent _three_ soldiers after me. Underestimate me at your own peril.’

‘They were good soldiers,’ Gwyn said.

‘Life goes on, huh? For some of us anyway.’

Aleutia stopped when she saw the twisted, towering mess of the throne-room. She groaned softly, blinked her glistening eyes hard, as though she was trying to shake the image from her mind. She turned in a full circle, tail trailing on the floor.

‘What a shambles. The Raven Prince’s Court? Now that was a Court worth visiting. This is...’

But whatever it was she didn’t get a chance to say. Gulvi teleported nearby, her wings angled outwards. She folded them back together, tucked a stray strand of hair that had fallen out of her ponytail, behind her ear. Gwyn realised there was possibly a charm in the iron gates alerting Gulvi and Ash to their use. After all, if only the Inner Court or Monarch could open then, perhaps they were keyed to the King and Queen. He turned and looked at the gates curiously. There was a lot about this world he didn’t know, despite his research. The Unseelie were far more secretive than the Seelie.

Aleutia and Gulvi embraced, and Gulvi had a smile for her that was warmth and crinkles in the corner of her eyes. When Aleutia saw the way Gwyn was looking at them both, she shrugged her shoulders, sheepish.

‘I’ve saved her life a few times. Didn’t know she’d become Queen!’

‘La! You would have charged me a lot more then, yes?’

‘Believe it,’ Aleutia said, whiskers fanning out as she grinned. She lowered her green healer’s box to the ground and rubbed her hands together. ‘Right. I want to get to work. Are you his witness then?’

‘Witness?’ Gwyn said, brow furrowing.

‘Ah, Gwyn, you’ve had your lot in with those trusting Seelie fools for far too long,’ Gulvi said. ‘Court status and higher are meant to have a witness when a healer checks them over, to make sure the healer does nothing _untoward._ After all, if they poison you, and you don’t notice, she can charge you more when she comes back to heal your unfortunate case of poisoning, can’t she?’

Gwyn’s eyes widened.

‘But you said you trust her,’ Gwyn said.

‘I trust her as much as I trust any Unseelie, darling,’ Gulvi said, grinning. ‘I can be your witness, if you like. But I imagine you want that execrable beast? I’ll fetch him? I do so enjoy interrupting him.’

Gulvi disappeared. Aleutia snatched the swan feathers Gulvi left behind her from the air and quickly put them in her healer’s box. She looked up, scowled at him, large ears flattening back against her head.

‘You’re getting the Each Uisge to be your witness? _Great._ Although does this make the rumours true then? He your pet? You had him for a whole year as your prisoner, and everyone says you tamed him. That must have taken some doing.’

Gwyn resisted the urge to laugh, kept his expression still. He didn’t much like Aleutia; but that was normal. She was a healer.

*

Augus and Aleutia didn’t get off to a good start. Augus treated her with a cold, polite indifference as soon as he’d arrived. Even once Gulvi walked away, his demeanour didn’t change. He was even chilly towards Gwyn.

He showed them both one of the healing rooms. Everything covered with a layer of dust. Augus and his Inner Court had hardly used the Unseelie Court during Augus’ reign. Augus spent a large proportion of his reign in his lake, which Gwyn now knew was likely because he had no idea _what_ to do once he’d actually overthrown in the Raven Prince.

‘Strip off,’ Aleutia said crisply, opening her box and pointing Augus towards the other corner of the room. Augus took two steps back – hardly any distance at all – and folded his arms. His eyes kept flickering to Gwyn’s shoulder, away again.

It made Gwyn feel ill. Augus was so beautiful, had always looked after himself so well. What if Augus didn’t like scars? What if he couldn’t look at it without feeling sick to his stomach? Would it change things? Would he grow to loathe it? There was already so much between them that could turn Augus against him, but he didn’t want it to be the scar.

He raised his hands to his shirt, unbuttoning it quickly, ignoring the pain. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a proper check up with a healer.

_Your Coronation, remember? They wanted to pronounce you fit for your Kingship._

Gwyn shuddered. It was getting harder to think about his time as Seelie King, it was woven so tightly with the demotion, the crowd that had witnessed it all and cried for his torture, his death. They were people he’d dined with, chatted with, laughed with. All of them, crowing for his end.

When he stood, naked, before the Unseelie healer whom he’d tried to have assassinated, he felt the urge to laugh at the absurdity of his situation. It was quickly swallowed when she knelt down and splayed her paws, sending a wave of energy out through his feet. He focused on Augus, who focused on Aleutia.

The energy moving through him wasn’t unpleasant, but it was invasive. He looked away from Augus’ impassive face and focused on a dusty, glass cabinet as it reached his ribs. Aleutia passed his faded wrist and hand scars entirely, and Gwyn looked at them. Perhaps they were only on the surface and didn’t matter; they didn’t hurt at all now, even though he’d used his light that morning.

Aleutia paused when she reached the injured rib and walked around him, pressing claws lightly to the scar.

‘Does it hurt?’

‘Not particularly,’ Gwyn said, and Aleutia made a sound halfway between a huff and a hiss.

‘That’s not an answer.’

She dug her claws into the scar, and Gwyn’s rib flared. He grimaced, flinched, kept his eyes on the cabinet. ‘There, see, it _hurts._ I don’t want your stoic soldier’s attitude. I’m a healer. Believe me, I know where to push to break through it. So tell me what the hell ‘not particularly’ means.’

‘It hurts on occasion,’ Gwyn said, twisting to look down at her. She poked him so that he faced forwards. ‘Direct pressure is painful. Since becoming Inner Court there are times I’m hardly aware of it.’

‘It’s still healing,’ Aleutia muttered. ‘ _Ingrit?_ It slows everything down. That will get better, the bone will never grow back. I think you’ll always be sensitive to direct pressure and blunt trauma there. They said you didn’t even cry out when they cut you open in front of everyone. That you were quiet when they cut your bone. That true? That takes guts.’

It wasn’t true. Gwyn closed his eyes. He opened them again to see Augus watching him with a sober expression.

The energy continued onwards, stopped again at his shoulder. He couldn’t look at Augus anymore, wanted this part to be over.

The energy pulsed in his shoulder a few times, probing but not aggravating any pain.

‘What the fuck did this?’ Aleutia said.

Augus laughed.

‘Would you believe an arrow? He rather has a knack for exaggerated wounds, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Bullshit,’ Aleutia snapped. ‘That’s no fucking arrow.’

_Oh no._

‘I can assure you, it-’

‘I’m not talking to you, Each Uisge. I don’t care how terrifying you’ve been or might be in the future, you’re here as a witness, _not_ my client. Got it? I wouldn’t offer my services to you, even if you dripped emeralds.’

‘Convenient, as I don’t accept healing from _vermin,’_ Augus drawled.

‘I’d rather be a rat, than the Each Uisge that ruined the reputation of all the Each Uisge that went before you.’

Augus’ eyes narrowed, he opened his mouth to reply, but fell quiet when Aleutia lightly pressed the pads of her fingers to Gwyn’s shoulder. Gwyn squeezed his eyes shut.

_‘What_ the fuck is this?’ Aleutia said. ‘I can feel the path of the arrow. What happened after?’

‘Infection,’ Gwyn said, heart beating faster.

‘Don’t lie to me. This is obviously why I’m here, I need to know what did it. That’s some serious trauma you’ve got in that shoulder of yours.’

‘Just tell me if it will get better,’ Gwyn said, impatient.

He hissed sharply when the pads of fingers became claws digging into a bundle of nerves he’d been trying not to aggravate for months. He bowed, grunting, vision turning red and white. Augus took a step forward even as Aleutia let go.

‘You _tell me_ what happened here _,’_ Aleutia said. She glared at him.

Gwyn looked up to Augus, eyes watering, but Augus was shaking his head faintly.

‘I think I’d like to know, also,’ Augus said. ‘What haven’t you told me?’

There was a tense silence as Gwyn straightened, his shoulder a morass of pain. He pressed his hand to the front of it, hating the feeling of the scar beneath his palm with no clothing muting the sensation of the ruined skin.

‘The wound infected when I ripped the arrow out. I didn’t know to clean it or...’

He expected Aleutia to react with disapproval, but she didn’t seem surprised. She rummaged through her healer’s box, looking at different pouches of herbs. She gestured for him to continue.

‘I was dying,’ Gwyn said, finding Augus’ eyes. ‘I had a fever, I was- I could feel my heart slowing. It would go fast, but then it started- It started slowing down. I became so cold. I tried to make a fire. But I wasn’t strong enough. I wouldn’t stop shaking.’

He had to look away again. Augus’ face was a mask – like his own – but Gwyn could see far more beneath it now. He didn’t want to speak about this. He thought about lying but didn’t see the point. Wanting to know if Aleutia could fix his shoulder trumped his need to hide what he’d done from them all.

‘I prayed to the gods of fire,’ Gwyn said. ‘One answered.’

‘Which one?’ Aleutia said, pausing and turning back to him.

‘Kabiri. Cadmilus.’

‘Fire god, huh? What’d you pray to him for?’

‘Fire,’ Gwyn said. ‘That was all. But he said- He said the wound needed to be cauterised or I would die anyway. The rest was straightforward. He cauterised the wound. When I woke up the fever had broken.’

‘Kabiri,’ Aleutia said, drawing the word out and tilting her head to the side. ‘Yeah, that’d explain it. He likes to leave his mark on people. Well they all do. He’s scrambled your shoulder. You didn’t realise? That’s not just an arrow wound anymore. Why people pray to gods that aren’t gods of healing I’ll never fucking know. If you’re going to incur a debt with a god, why someone like _him?_ Anyway, none of my business really, but that shoulder’s fucked. There’s nothing you can do.’

‘What can _you_ do?’ Gwyn said, and Aleutia laughed, the sound high.

‘There’s nothing _anyone_ can do. That shoulder is a fucking mess. Whatever it is now, you’ll be living with that. Next time you see Kabiri, tell him that he could’ve gone a bit easier. Maybe he just wanted you to think of him, doing what he did to those poor nerves of yours. Now, you-’

‘What was the debt?’ Augus said, his voice cold.

‘To Kabiri? Two debts,’ Aleutia said abruptly. ‘He made the fire, and then offered to cauterise the wound? Two debts. You know, I heard the other day that Kabiri had done something similar with someone else. Interesting. Ah well, I don’t mess with gods. I mean, _why_ would you? I’d just let myself die.’

‘I have never met a healer so filled to the brim with inane prattle as you,’ Augus said coldly. He turned back to Gwyn. _‘What were the debts?’_

Gwyn took several deep breaths. The compulsions were easier to brush off than they had been the night before. Still, he knew Augus wouldn’t let it go, he might as well get this part out of the way with someone else there to make sure Augus didn’t murder him.

‘They’re open debts. I tried negotiating for better, but-’

‘-Dying. Can’t negotiate for fucking much when Kabiri holds all the cards, right?’ Aleutia said, snapping her healer’s box shut. Gwyn jerked in surprise when he felt healing energy up at his other shoulder, moving through his neck. He’d forgotten she hadn’t finished her scan. He felt dazed.

‘Is there someone I can go to, to get the shoulder fixed?’

‘Nope,’ Aleutia said, finishing up the scan at the top of his head and withdrawing her energy. ‘Hanging onto that denial a bit longer, huh?’

Gwyn and Augus stared at each other. Augus looked unimpressed. Gwyn knew he hadn’t heard the last of the situation with the debts.

‘Two things to keep in mind,’ Aleutia said. ‘You can’t make it any worse than it is now, being Inner Court. So even if you damage it, tear the nerves, take an axe to the shoulder, you _will_ heal. But the original damage you undertook as underfae will _never_ go. So please don’t go fucking with your shoulder on purpose to see if you can heal everything at once, because that bullshit won’t undo the damage that’s been done. Got it? I’ve seen fae do that to themselves before. Just don’t bother.

‘Two! It’s gonna hurt. Training will hurt. Wearing armour is going to be a bitch, unless you take the plates off that shoulder, which exposes your whole arm. I know what armour you prefer wearing, so you’re either gonna have to modify it, or suck it up. It’s going to take time to adjust to the pain, especially now that you’ve been underfae. It’s gonna feel like an emergency. It _isn’t._ That beast of an injury is going to fatigue quicker than the rest of you, and you have to baby it. You can’t just jump back in and expect your shoulder to do everything else your body can. Never again.

‘Otherwise, you’re fine. You’re Inner Court, you’re a warrior. Get me if you sustain a _real_ injury.’

‘Charming,’ Augus said, staring at her with a flat expression.

‘Don’t you start with me. I lost _friends_ thanks to your fuck ups. _Many_ friends.’

‘Oh?’ Augus said, raising his eyebrows and pointing at Gwyn without looking at him. ‘And this one? Has he not killed many of your friends? Soldier comrades? Generals? Other healers?’

‘Yeah, he has,’ Aleutia said, glaring up at Gwyn. She turned back to Augus and her whiskers pushed forwards. ‘But _that one_ doesn’t backtalk me like a damned brat. I hope you sit on a porcupine.’

She turned to Gwyn.

‘Pay up.’

Gwyn took the small bag he’d placed on the cabinet and spilled out cut gemstones and a handful of seeds. He expected Aleutia to choose one of the emeralds, as she’d mentioned them, but her claws snatched up a seed and she stared at it with eyes so wide he could see her white sclera.

‘Mother of rats, where did you find this?’

‘Is it an acceptable payment?’ Gwyn said. There was no way he was revealing the location of that tree to anyone. The fae world was filled with rare, magical species of flora. Flowers that would only bloom once. Trees that would only seed once. A single golden bulrush in a single lake that could cure voicelessness. They lived in the land of fairytales, and some species were too precious to have their locations shared.

Aleutia turned the seed as her whiskers twitched. She held it up close to her nose, sniffed it.

‘For this, if it germinates, I’ll come work for the fucking Court and heal anyone you want,’ Aleutia said. _‘If_ it germinates. Have you tried? How do you have more? How did you find that fucking tree? My Master had _one_ of these seeds, _one,_ and she had to practically mortgage her firstborn to a Mage for it.’

Augus looked over curiously. Gwyn handed a seed to Augus, then pulled his pants back on quickly. Augus blew out a breath.

‘The _Immortalis?_ You found it?’

‘I found a tree,’ Gwyn said, looking at the non-descript seeds. It wasn’t their appearance that made them special. They were brown and wrinkly and small. They had a unique scent that enlivened all who smelled it. It was their powdered properties that made them invaluable. He’d taken a handful, just in case.

‘You’re confounding,’ Augus muttered, handing the seed back.

‘I don’t know if it will germinate,’ Gwyn said to Aleutia. ‘I haven’t tried.’

‘If it does, I’ll come back and work for the Court if Gulvi will have me. You have my word on that as a healer. The seed alone is good for payment. A few payments. You can call me back another three, four times if you have need of me. I doubt it though. If you stay at this status, you’ll just be dealing with the kind of shit you don’t need a healer for. Mother of rats, some of those emeralds are nice though.’

She pocketed the seed over her breast, patted it with a satisfied gleam in her eye.

‘I got the better deal here, I think. I’ll show myself out! I need to have a quick chat with Queen Gulvi first.’

She picked up her healer’s box and walked out.

‘Ha! _Queen_ Gulvi! Imagine that!’ she said from the hallway.

They listened as her steps disappeared, tail sliding on the floor behind her. When they were alone, Gwyn braced himself for Augus’ anger.

‘Get dressed,’ Augus said. ‘It was better than I expected, I suppose.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘There’s no lingering infection. And you can still train. I could possibly find some analgesics that might assist with the pain.’ Augus paused and looked to the door for a few seconds. ‘Could you meet me in the throne room in ten minutes?’

‘The throne room?’

‘Ten minutes,’ Augus said, and walked away. Gwyn put his shirt back on, shoulder throbbing. Whatever Aleutia had done had aggravated the wound, and he knew with a sinking feeling it would be hours before the pain settled into its usual ache.

*

Augus returned with Ash behind him, crown perched on top of his head. Gwyn was starting to think that Ash slept in it. He knew that probably wasn’t true, but he seemed ridiculously attached to the crown. Gwyn stopped pacing, wondered what was going on. Augus was harder to read in the Unseelie Court than the Seelie Court. He was colder, more closed in, he hid more of himself.

‘This Soulbond,’ Augus said, folding his arms. ‘It’s occurred to me that I don’t know much about _how_ it was acquired. I’ve just found out that Gwyn’s got a bit of a bad habit with debts, so I’m curious. Indulge me, if you will. What was the debt for the Soulbond, and has it been paid?’

Gwyn held back a wince.

‘Yeah...’ Ash said, not even trying to hide his wince. ‘About that...’

Augus growled. Gwyn’s eyes widened in alarm. Ash stepped back, laughing.

‘Fucking- I knew you’d be pissed.’

‘ _What_ was the debt?’ Augus snarled.

‘Well, uh, I kind of haven’t paid it yet? I dunno, the Mage was _really_ intimidating. And I sort of don’t know...what the debt will be? I-’

‘You made an _open-ended debt_ with a _Mage?_ Have you been somehow lobotomised in my absence? You were always as stupid as a bag of rocks, Ash, but this is honestly the most-’

‘Hey, trying to save your life,’ Ash said, sounding surprisingly cheerful in the face of Augus’ wrath. Gwyn kept his mouth shut.

‘My life was not in jeopardy!’ Augus shouted, his voice reaching a volume that Gwyn wasn’t used to. Gwyn realised, shocked, that there was a rift in Augus, an instability that hadn’t been as visible before. _The Unseelie Court is not a haven for him. He doesn’t feel the zahakhar. It’s just a place where he’s been hurt a great deal._

Augus wasn’t done, taking several deep breaths before continuing.

‘In the space of one day I find out that the _both_ of you have gone and committed to so much idiocy that you practically deserve every iota of ill-luck that finds you from here until the end of the millennia. However, you forgot one thing – might I remind you of it? – I’m stuck with the _both_ of you, and I’m not interested in being a part of whatever I’m going to end up being a part of. I didn’t _need_ the Soulbond!’

‘How many assassination attempts have there been so far, brother?’ Ash said, meeting Augus’ volume with an easy quietness that Gwyn envied. ‘There’s been a few right? How many more do you think there’d be without the Soulbond?’

‘I’m Inner Court, I am very hard to kill, trust me. I was hard to kill when I was underfae. As evidenced by the fact that I’m still here, not tied down under the weight of open-ended debts to _gods_ and Mages that know _Old Lore.’_

‘What? Gods? There are gods now? What the hell did you do?’ Ash said, staring at Gwyn.

‘And you,’ Augus said, turning to Gwyn in disgust. ‘You talk about how you don’t want to be King because you want freedom, because you don’t want the burden, and it turns out that you’ve saddled yourself with two open debts to an underworld god anyway. You have no freedom. You bartered it away. I’m grateful you’re alive, but your excuses for avoiding Kingship are just that – excuses. I don’t want to look at either of you, right now. I’m going to hunt. I’ll return in a week.’

Augus turned and walked away, boots clicking on the floor. They watched him go. Gwyn turned to Ash, confused, concerned. Ash directed the same look at him.

After a beat, Ash’s lips quirked up in a smirk.

‘You tattled and told Augus about that note I sent, huh? What are you trying to do, come between us? Still manipulating the family bond?’

‘What?’ Gwyn said. Augus had already talked to Ash about it?

Ash grinned, and a wave of dra’ocht moved through Gwyn like a tidal wave. Gwyn held still before it, feeling the dissonance of Ash’s good, charming cheerfulness in his glamour, alongside the predatory gleam in his hazel eyes.

He rather thought it was familiar, after Crielle.

‘He came and talked to me about it earlier. Besides, did I say _he_ wanted nothing to do with you? I made a mistake. I meant that _I_ didn’t. Ah well. No harm done, right? I mean, now you’re Inner Court and have asylum and Augus _loves_ you.’

Ash licked at his lips slowly and grinned.

‘If I find out you’ve fucked with him in _any_ way. If I find out you’ve hurt him, if I-’

‘I don’t want to hurt him,’ Gwyn said. ‘I already know you’d do anything to protect him. Ash, I’m not trying to come between you both. I released him to _your_ custody. I didn’t intend to tell him about the note. I thought it seemed...understandable. I told Augus I’d misread it. I didn’t know he’d come to you. It was an accident that it came up at all.’

Ash stared at him hard.

‘I wasn’t born from the lake yesterday, Gwyn. The only difference between the lies you tell now and the lies you told before, is that now we all know you’re Unseelie and we _expect_ them.’

Ash walked away, leaving Gwyn alone in the throne-room.

*

Gwyn spent the next two days wandering through the Court. Some parts were deeply off-putting.

On the first day, he entered a blue-black corridor filled with old cobwebs and fresh glistening spider-web strung from floor to ceiling. Up in the corner, a mass of tiny black spiders with glowing white eyes milled in excitement to see him. Gwyn remembered what Augus had said about some of the most poisonous and venomous species in the world living in the Unseelie Court, and he’d backed out of the hallway and walked quickly in the opposite direction.

There were cavities in the walls, places where shadows could bloom and blossom. There were doors that opened up to black enclosures that held no light, no items. Just rooms of twisted rock and darkness. He once walked underneath a creature with six legs that hung from the ceiling and dripped slime, but didn’t appear to respond to anything near it. It exhaled and inhaled slowly, a pool of black congealed mess on the floor beneath it.

The further he ranged, the more he found places he liked. There was a bridge over a healthily bubbling river, and the silver and green fish within it swarmed towards him. He walked back and forth over the bridge, they followed him. He’d stayed some time there, leaning on the railing, smiling down at dancing jewel-like fish milling around the navy-violet shadows of the bridge.

The zahakhar followed him everywhere within the Court. It was buttery soft, giving his awareness soft edges. It was harder to treat everything with suspicion, felt like a calm hand on his shoulder.

On the third day, in the accounts room, he browsed through ledgers maintained during the Raven Prince’s reign. He’d used considerable strength to force the locked cabinet open. There weren’t enough house-keepers to ask for a key, Augus was away, Gulvi was often absent – caring for her sister or taking care of her own freelancing work – and that left Ash, who put Gwyn on edge.

He couldn’t find any ledgers at all from Augus’ reign. He wondered if they’d been destroyed. Up until Augus’ reign, the Unseelie Court had certainly been doing very well, had many income streams, a diverse portfolio of supportive noble families.

He stiffened when he heard the distinctive heavy thud of Gulvi’s boots approaching. He looked up as she peered into the shadowy room with its low ceiling. It was hardly welcoming to either of them.

‘Darling, what are you doing?’

‘This only takes me up to the end of the Raven Prince’s reign. Where is everything else?’

‘Why does it matter? Are the accounts any of your business?’

‘I want to help,’ Gwyn said, staring at them. ‘I feel useless here, wandering around. I tried to find some armour, but the only armoury I could find looks like it’s been gutted. There’s- I’m not sure where the training rooms are? For elite military?’

Gulvi looked amused.

‘One thing at a time, yes? You want to see what the accounts look like now?’ She started to laugh. ‘Come with me, then.’

Gwyn followed, itching to train, to hold a sword, to pull the string of a bow. He’d seen Aleutia now, he was a higher status, he could do what he wanted if he could withstand the pain. He’d always had a high pain tolerance. He couldn’t keep spending his time like this.

With no purpose, no secret to constantly hide from others he had energy to burn.

*

Gwyn spent the day with Gulvi. Eventually they both took a mess of haphazard paperwork, barely maintained ledgers, and other pieces of blank scroll, notes, and anything else that looked relevant in giant crates down to one of the outer night-forests of the Unseelie Court. There, Gwyn looked over what he could, dismayed at the state of the finances, while Gulvi added her sassy, welcome commentary.

For all that Gulvi claimed she wanted nothing to do with the running of the Kingdom, he thought she’d done a remarkable job in bad circumstances. Especially for someone who wasn’t used to navigating Court politics like Gwyn was. Gwyn found that hard to understand, even _he_ wasn’t used to navigating Court politics like his mother.

‘You’re not even breaking even anymore,’ Gwyn sighed. He found a pot of black ink in the bottom of one of the wooden crates, but couldn’t find a fountain pen.

‘Do you have a pen? Or a quill with you?’ Gwyn said absently.

There was a pause, Gulvi held something out.

He wrapped his fingers around the quill of a feather, then looked up when he realised it wasn’t actually designed to hold ink. Gulvi had simply pulled one of her own feathers out, grinned at him cheekily.

‘Ha. Ha. Gulvi, very funny.’

‘Ask a fucking bird for a quill, you’ll get a feather.’

He smiled, shook his head, kept looking through the paperwork. Gulvi sorted some of it, muttering things to herself. At one point she lapsed back into her native Latvian, and Gwyn found it pleasing to hear her abandon the common tongue and her French affectations.

‘Southern Latgalian,’ Gwyn said, looking up. ‘I haven’t heard that in a while.’

‘You know it?’ Gulvi said, looking up. ‘So you can understand me muttering like a madwoman to myself? What did I just say?’

Gwyn raised his eyebrows and lowered the paperwork.

‘You said, ‘I haven’t killed anyone in an age.’’

Gulvi tilted her head back and groaned.

‘La! It’s been _forever._ It’s hard to be discreet when everyone is all ‘Your Majesty’ this and ‘Unseelie Queen’ that!’

‘I haven’t been in a battle for a while,’ Gwyn said.

‘Miss it?’

_‘Yes,’_ Gwyn said.

‘Good,’ Gulvi said, handing Gwyn a tightly rolled scroll. ‘Because _these_ are all the conflicts happening that we can’t assist in, because we have no military.’

Gwyn unfurled the scroll and stared at it.

‘Oh no.’

‘Oh _yes,_ isn’t it exquisite? The Seelie are continuing with that wonderful pattern _you_ started – going after land while the Unseelie Kingdom is weak. I can only do so much, Gwyn. I don’t _battle._ Not really. I loathe it, the strategy of managing more than one person. I’ve taken out some key figures on my own, but I can’t get close to General Avriduct.’

‘You won’t, either,’ Gwyn said, looking at the amount of red lines after every battle.

The battle log listed the locations of a battle, the factions involved, and then red lines indicated a defeat. Multiple red lines for significant losses. Even before Augus had been defeated, the scroll was filled with red lines. There was only the occasional black circle indicating retreat, the black triangle for surrender. Almost no blue crosses.

_This is the side you’re on now. Look at how much damage you’ve done. Look at the damage the Seelie are still doing. They’re a solid, successful Court. It would almost be nice to be on their side, if they’d have you. If they didn’t treat you like..._

‘I need a drink,’ Gwyn said, rolling up the scroll.

‘La! _Oui!_ Best idea you’ve had all day. Ale is something we _do_ have, and I have some home-made kvass, if you’re game.’

‘Home-made?’ Gwyn said, eyes widening. ‘Gulvi, where are you finding the time to do all of this?’

‘My mother used to have kvass constantly brewing. Like her mother, and her mother before her, all the way back to the beginning of the Dubna itself. Someone, my friend, has to keep up that tradition. Do not get me wrong, I like breaking a tradition or two. But not this one. La! It’s easy. Trust me, brewing something I can _drink_ is far easier than sorting out this shit.’

She clapped him on the back, avoiding his bad shoulder.

‘Get up! The drinks won’t drink themselves!’

*

They lay on Gulvi’s bed, passing a bottle of kvass between them. Gwyn felt a bit numb. He was vaguely worried about Augus, amused at a series of bad jokes Gulvi had just told, felt pleasantly sleepy. His mouth tasted of birch, berries and rye. They’d started on ale and vodka, moved to the kvass at the end, toasting to the dead. Gwyn lay on his side and Gulvi faced him, the wing closest to the bed stretched out for comfort. The other she idly flapped back and forth, the breezes she made were cool and gentle.

‘That Soulbond,’ Gulvi said, handing the bottle of kvass back to him with sticky fingers from the birch sap they’d mixed into the drink at the last moment, on Gulvi’s whim. The result wasn’t entirely palatable, but Gwyn wasn’t about to complain. ‘You did that Soulbond with me in mind, didn’t you?’

Gwyn yawned hugely, then sipped from the rim of the bottle, feeling the fuzziness of a hangover already creeping up on him. He hadn’t eaten enough to justify the amount of alcohol he’d consumed.

‘Is it that obvious? Gulvi, you-You are one of the few who I think could have killed him easily. You would have stopped at nothing. But with Ash tied to that Soulbond as he is...I couldn’t see you killing Augus if it meant killing Ash.’

‘Curse my fucking swan heart,’ Gulvi said quietly. ‘And _fuck you_ while we’re at it.’

‘What about adding some Coblynau families to the Unseelie Court?’ Gwyn said. ‘They bring luck, or something, not that I put much stock in luck. It’s the stupidest thing, luck. Fae would buy it. Fae and their super-superstitions. But other Unseelie might like to see some Coblynau in the-’

‘Stop _working!’_ Gulvi whined. ‘Just run the fucking Court, or shut up.’

She snatched the bottle off him and sat up, laughing.

‘Ash doesn’t want me to run the fucking Court,’ Gwyn said, rolling onto his back. ‘ _I_ don’t want to run the fucking Court.’

‘La! Well, Ash _loathes_ not only the Court, but the entire fae world. He threw his lot in with humans so long ago, I can’t even remember. He says fucking the fae is dull.’

‘My sympathies.’

Gwyn grunted when she struck him across the chest with her fist.

‘He hasn’t fucked _me._ At any rate, I’ll have you know-’

Gwyn started laughing. He turned onto his side, buried his head in blankets that smelled like the musk of bird, and kept laughing. He started rocking back and forth when Gulvi started shoving him over and over again.

‘Share the joke, that’s the polite thing to do,’ Gulvi hissed.

‘The Court is ridiculous,’ Gwyn laughed. ‘What Court? What a mess. And you’re sitting here telling me that Ash hasn’t fucked you, instead of- If this were the Seelie Court – what I’m trying to say is – they panic if one tiny thing goes wrong. And _everything_ has gone wrong here and the Seelie Court is going to take the Unseelie Court down any day now. There might not _be_ an Unseelie Court by the end of the year.’

‘What are you talking about? They can’t raise an army directly against the Court,’ Gulvi said, voice slurred.

Gwyn snorted.

‘Yes, they can. I set the precedent, remember? Me. I broke that rule first when I _directly_ attacked the Unseelie Court and wasn’t-wasn’t struck by lightning for it. Everyone accepted it because they thought it was _necessary._ But now the precedent has been broken, the Seelie can do it...whenever.’

‘Shit,’ Gulvi whispered. ‘Shit, you’re correct. _Shit.’_

‘Perhaps we should toast to the death of the Unseelie Court,’ Gwyn said, tiredly.

His eyes flew open when a fist flew into the side of his head.

‘Wake up, you apathetic bastard!’ Gulvi shouted at him. ‘The only thing stopping the Seelie military – now reinforced with Albion’s troops might I add – from raining down on our parade is the fact that he’s Seelie and has _some_ honour!’

‘Not much. He didn’t give me armour back. Or my sword.’

‘La! Yes! He’s a _dick!_ I told you that when you hired him. Did you listen to me? _No,_ of course not. Get up you lazy, ale-soaked creature.’

Gwyn made a thin, whining sound when she started pulling hard on his hair. He pushed himself upright, sat back on his haunches, blinked blearily. Gulvi looked animated, eyes bright. He envied her. He was starting to feel ill. The slow, creeping heaviness of earlier was coming back. It was difficult to hold himself upright. He was hungry, he was tired, Augus was away and angry at him. It was hard to concentrate.

‘Augus is angry with me,’ Gwyn said mournfully, and Gulvi made a sound of incredulity.

‘That sadistic donkey who has so much mane I’m sure the excess lives in his _brain cavity,_ has put himself on the line for you. Did you know he collapsed from _exhaustion,_ looking for you? The twit. Trust me, you’re not worth it, Gwyn ap Nudd. Sitting there hardly caring about what happens to us or an entire Kingdom. You do realise that _you_ were the one who used to say the Kingdoms could live in harmony, yes?’

‘Gulvi, you need a military. Everyone’s deserted. It takes- Do you know how long it takes to build a military? A halfway good one? I have some idea. It’s a long time. I could...General for you. Maybe. No one will listen to me. What was in that kvass?’

‘Oh, do I look like I know how to make kvass? I made it up! I didn’t care how my mother made it until she _died_ and I couldn’t _ask_ her.’

‘I thought it tasted a bit strange. Didn’t want to say anything,’ Gwyn said, crossing his legs on the bed and resting his head in his hand.

‘No, don’t do this. Don’t you get _maudlin_ on me. Oh...never mind. I’m tired. I’m too tired for this shit. Let Albion come. He can’t touch the Court. Let him try.’

Gulvi lay down on her front, wings relaxing against her back and the bed. She turned her head to the side and started sleepily swearing at Gwyn in Lithuanian.

Gwyn lay down again and pulled one of her thin, strange pillows to his head, sighing.

‘I can understand that,’ he said, yawning.

She switched to Kalymyk Oirat, and Gwyn closed his eyes.

‘I’m not as useless as a horse with no legs,’ he said. Gulvi swore at him.

She switched to Ingush, and Gwyn scrubbed a hand over his face.

‘Not a...bird with no beak. Gulvi, you’re not even trying. Also, I think your agglutination is off.’

‘Go...fuck yourself,’ Gulvi said, the words slurring together.

After a beat she started speaking a language that Gwyn couldn’t understand at all. And he knew enough to know that she wasn’t making the words up. He opened his eyes, looked at her, curious.

‘What language is that?’

‘La! _Got_ you.’

Gulvi was snoring before he realised he’d have no chance puzzling out the language and would have to ask her later. Gwyn slipped into a doze, his last muzzy thoughts of Augus and the taste of his skin against his tongue.

*

The next two days were spent deep in conversation with Gulvi. Since their conversation and subsequent hangovers, they overtook several rooms and stripped them, putting up maps, scrolls, accounts, the names and lineages of families and significant players in the Unseelie world. Gwyn was surprised at how much he knew, thanks to his military research and picking up gossip through the Court and his mother’s events. Gulvi had a very good grasp of the powerful, wealthy and up-and-comers in many sectors of the Unseelie world.

Gwyn found moments where he was enjoying himself. He’d not had anyone to brainstorm with like this for thousands of years. Not since his strategy tutors had set him almost impossible tasks and then together they’d tried to break down what they needed to do, set about creating manageable smaller tasks, took steps to fix a problem that seemed insurmountable.

Twice, Ash came in, sat on a desk and watched them both, brow furrowed. Gulvi tried to draw him into conversation several times, but Ash would give all the papers, maps and scrolls a loathsome look and always leave.

Gulvi often left to look after her sister. Gwyn continued quietly while she wasn’t there, working through the night, eschewing sleep, eating whatever food she brought back into the rooms. He missed the cooking of the trows, but he wasn’t going hungry. He made himself busy enough that he didn’t have to think about Crielle and her plans for him, what they would do about the tracking spell still on him, the fact of his injured shoulder, that everyone knew he was Unseelie, that he missed his armour and didn’t know when he’d be able to train again or quite _how_ he would set about doing it.

Ash came to visit him in the early hours of a morning while Gwyn was carefully writing down a budget for a new military.

‘Augus says your mother wants to torture you to death.’

Gwyn stiffened. He put down the fountain pen and stared at Ash, hoping he’d go away. He never felt okay around Ash. Betraying him and his brother against each other to defeat Augus had never sat well with him. Ash had always intimidated him. He was attractive, charming, charismatic. He could talk to anyone and talk to them well. None of the fae hated him for spending so much time with humans, or – for that matter – being loyal to his brother. Gwyn had spent his entire life trying to learn how people interacted with each other easily and he’d never been able to learn.

What Ash could do, his ability to socialise, it seemed like a magic trick he couldn’t brainstorm his way around.

‘I suppose you want to help her?’ Gwyn said, unable to think of anything else to say.

Ash blinked hard. He frowned.

‘What about your Dad?

‘What about him?’ Gwyn said, confused.

‘They must have had it tough, raising an Unseelie kid like that,’ Ash said, walking behind him, so that Gwyn had to twist in his chair to keep an eye on him. But Ash seemed lost in thought. Gwyn could think of nothing to say to that comment. It awoke an old darkness; the feeling that perhaps all of his childhood could have been easier, if he had just been Seelie enough.

‘I don’t expect it was easy,’ Gwyn said finally.

‘Gulvi thinks you’d make a good King,’ Ash said, turning to face Gwyn. ‘Not just because the Unseelie are like, impressed, or whatever, with you lying to everyone for so long about who you really are. She thinks you’re just good at it. I want to know what your angle is.’

‘I don’t have an angle.’

‘Everyone has a fucking angle,’ Ash said, voice too cheerful for the hardness in his eyes. ‘Everyone. Me having drinks on a Friday night, even if I’m not trying to pick up? My angle is that I’m having or trying to have a good time. Everyone has a motive, a goal, _something._ Even if you’re just lounging around doing sweet fuck all, you want something. If you were King, what would you _want?’_

‘I don’t want to be King,’ Gwyn said blandly, then turned back to his paperwork.

Ash didn’t leave after five minutes, was still there in ten. And Gwyn sighed harshly and put down the fountain pen again.

‘I grow tired of this,’ Gwyn said.

‘You never give me a straight answer,’ Ash said as he folded his arms. ‘If you let me compel you, you’d _have_ to tell me the truth.’

‘You have shattered my cheekbone, made me go blind in one eye, lied to me about how Augus felt, which led to him – from what I can understand – frequently putting himself in danger to try and find me,’ Gwyn said, voice hard. ‘You think I would _ever_ let you compel me? Get out.’

Gwyn pointed at the door. Ash smirked and didn’t move.

‘Dude, you forget. I’m like...the King. If I command you to let me compel you, and you refuse, that’s treason, and I can lock you up. ’

Gwyn stared at him.

‘Oh yeah,’ Ash said, ‘I may have like _zero_ political game, I might be shit at all of this, but I want some answers from you, and I’ve decided I’m- Yeah, you know what? As your King, I fucking _order_ you to let me compel some answers out of you.’

Gwyn’s mouth went dry. He put down his papers, took several deep breaths. He couldn’t afford another demotion. He couldn’t handle another cell. He folded his hands in his lap, anger at being placed in this position coursing through him.

‘Let me try answering you without the compulsions first, Your Majesty.’

Ash’s eyes narrowed, his smile turned ugly.

‘Nice try.’

‘Then blood-oath that you won’t...use them to make me hurt or injure myself,’ Gwyn said quickly.

‘Yeah, I’m pretty sure Augus would kill me if I did _that._ I’m not blood-oathing though, that’s a bit much, isn’t it? Considering you’re the one here that just won’t be _honest_ with me. I’ll tell you what, give me your wrist. I’m a pretty good polygraph.’

He stepped forwards, crowded easily into Gwyn’s space, reached for his wrist. Gwyn thought about fighting back, didn’t see the point. This was undignifying, but Ash was King, and Gwyn would take this over being compelled.

‘Okay, so, I need to know what your pulse is normally like, because Jesus, it’s _fast._ Name?’

‘Gwyn ap Nudd.’

‘Date of birth?’

‘I don’t have one,’ Gwyn said absently. Ash said nothing, looked confused. ‘No one marked it on a calendar. But I did my own research when I was younger, and I think – possibly – September or October.’

‘My name?’

‘Ash Glashtyn.’

‘Yep, okay. Are you in love with my brother?’ 

Gwyn tried to snatch his wrist away, Ash held on. The struggle was brief. It left Gwyn with his wrist still in Ash’s grip, skin bruised.

‘Let go of me!’ Gwyn rasped. These questions were pointless.

‘Nope.’

‘Let _go,’_ Gwyn wrenched his whole body backwards, pulling Ash a foot across the room. Even then, Ash still hung on, even though Gwyn’s chair had clattered to the ground. ‘You naive, ignorant fool. Demote me, then. Go on. Put me in the cell. Explain to Gulvi what you’ve done and see if she’ll believe you, now that we _all_ know what a problem you have with me.’

Gwyn wanted to punch him with his free arm, but restrained himself, breathing harshly through his nose. It was much like being caught by Efnisien at the An-Fnwy estate, which was bizarre; Ash was _nothing_ like Efnisien.

They both heard Gulvi walking back down the corridor and Ash let go of Gwyn’s wrist quickly. Gwyn righted the chair without thinking and sat on it, so that by the time Gulvi reached the door, it looked like nothing had happened. Which was – Gwyn realised – ridiculous. They’d both just conspired together to hide any signs of an altercation.

Ash made uneasy eye contact with him. He invited Gulvi out for a drink, and Gwyn watched them go, hunching back over his paperwork, trying to calm his racing pulse.

*

Augus returned a week later, green eyes brighter than usual, something wild their depths. He stalked into the room where Gwyn looked over Gulvi’s notes, paused, then sauntered towards Gwyn, his fingers splayed into claws. He’d managed clothing, but there was something off kilter; Gwyn had seen him like this before, in the Seelie Court. Gwyn’s heart thumped in anticipation.

A loud clatter in the corner. Gwyn jumped. A scroll had rolled slowly off the table and then fallen, the rollers hitting the stone.

Augus made a low, shocked noise and leapt backwards, pressing himself flat against the wall, pupils dilating. He stared in the direction of the sound, claws scraping on stone. He looked like he wasn’t seeing anything in the room.

Gwyn stood, ignored the scroll that was benign and silent. His heart ached.

‘Augus...’

He didn’t want to make Augus feel worse, wanted to ask if he was okay, reassure him that everything was alright, and knew that Augus wouldn’t appreciate either of those things. Fae soldiers were the same; seeing a flashback didn’t always mean drawing attention to it. Gwyn took a breath, decided to throw himself in the deep end.

‘Augus, I suppose you’re still angry with me?’

Augus was breathing quickly, he blinked rapidly, belatedly focusing on Gwyn. His forehead was creased, he was paler than normal. He stepped away from the wall, curled his fingers into his palm.

‘Of course,’ Augus said, but his voice wasn’t smooth, far more muted than usual. ‘Of course I am.’

‘Are you well fed?’

‘I am,’ Augus’ voice became normal, relief passed over his face. He stared down at the scroll on the floor venomously, closed his eyes for a few seconds, and then everything uneasy and uncomfortable seemed to pass. He visibly straightened, his fingers relaxed. ‘And you?’

‘Yes, Augus,’ Gwyn said, sitting down again. His heart beat a different rhythm now. Augus was back, standing in front of him, and it wasn’t until this very moment that Gwyn realised he’d been afraid that Augus might not want to see him again.

_I missed you._

He didn’t know how to say it. He wanted to reach out and touch Augus’ clothing, his skin, but he didn’t know how to do it. He wished that if he stared hard enough, Augus would simply understand what he wanted. Gwyn turned down to look at what he was working on.

This Court was not a healthy place for Augus. It was filled with bad memories. It was ugly and twisted, its layout was illogical. Gwyn still hadn’t found any training rooms and he suspected Augus had erased them, not seeing the need for anything other than a narrow _formel_ for training with the rapier.

‘You smell like iron,’ Augus said, somewhat dreamily now that he’d slipped back into his previous fey mood. ‘Why is that? Is it the light? Are you an anathema to yourself the way iron is an anathema to most fae?’

Augus came close to him and dragged his claws down Gwyn’s good arm. Gwyn shivered, his senses alert. With his other hand, Augus clasped Gwyn’s scarred shoulder. Gwyn tensed and Augus hushed him, a soft noise that didn’t engender any safety.

‘Gulvi said you collapsed while looking for me,’ Gwyn said, shifting as Augus started massaging at the scar tissue through his shirt with his fingers.

‘Oh yes,’ Augus confirmed. ‘I wanted you back. You belong to me.’

‘I’m not a piece of furniture, Augus.’

‘You belong to me,’ Augus said again, sighing. Gwyn squirmed his way out of Augus’ grip, which meant sliding off the chair and standing in front of him, away from the contact.

‘Please don’t do that,’ Gwyn said, hating that he had to say it at all. ‘Not the shoulder. Please.’

Augus’ lips thinned, he looked unhappy again. After a while he shrugged gracefully and nodded. They were quiet after that. Augus walked around, trailing a fingertip along the edge of the table, standing near Gwyn for some minutes. After a while he walked out again. Gwyn decided Augus was never quite himself after he’d fed. But Gwyn could understand that, because he knew what he was like after a battle.

*

Gwyn spent a day avoiding Augus, Gulvi and Ash, meandering through the Court. He found the disused library, covered in dust and filled with knowledges that Gwyn wanted to sink himself into. He needed to find someone to look after it, because it didn’t look like anyone had treasured it for decades. He found a second set of kitchens, abandoned. They held strangely shaped pots and pans, unidentified dried foods hanging from the ceiling, a thick smell of mould. He avoided the cavern where he’d defeated Augus, because he held confused memories of that place, of the hardness he’d had to embrace to do everything that he’d done.

Late that night he looked for Augus, tracking him via his scent. When he found him, sitting quietly in the guest bedroom, despite the fact that a corner of it was – as Augus had said – dead, Gwyn tried to shove away his nervousness, his fear. He couldn’t.

‘I need to speak with you,’ Gwyn said.

‘Alright,’ Augus said, standing. ‘Here? Somewhere else?’

‘Can I take you to the outer edges of the Court? I’ve found some places I-’

‘Anything to break up the tedium.’

Augus stepped forwards and Gwyn teleported them both to a forest in the outer edges of the Court. Here the trees with their blackened trunks and gleaming black leaves opened up in a fragmented canopy to show the Unseelie constellations. The night sky was a deep, beckoning navy, though to the horizon, a paler violet could be seen. Far in the distance, the Aurora Borealis danced upon the fae world, filled with the dancing elementals of that eldritch light.

‘It was easier for you back in the Seelie Court, wasn’t it?’ Gwyn said. ‘You don’t have to reply. But certain assumptions I’d made about how things might be for you once you were free, I’ve come to realise were wrong.’

Gwyn leaned against a tree trunk. Augus watched him, cloaked with the shadows of the night, his gaze hidden so that Gwyn could only see glints of light in his eyes.

‘Augus, why didn’t you just compel me to be King?’

Augus stiffened.

‘You know it doesn’t work that way,’ Augus said. ‘It is also a rare thing for you to admit you want or do not want something. I confess I wanted to respect the novelty. Why do you ask?’

‘ _If_ I were King, I’d need to make sure I could...lower my status – preferably not to underfae and preferably without the...shame of a public demotion – within the two hundred and fifty year mandatory period.’

Augus nodded, remained surprisingly calm despite the implications of what Gwyn had just said. Gwyn wished he could borrow from that calm. He felt tense, ill.

‘Yes, we’d use an Inner Court Reversal. It’s what we’d need to get you into Kingship in the first place. Gulvi’s said that she’s willing to rule if you refuse now or in the future. She just very much hopes you don’t refuse. But, Gwyn, you’re going to want to escape the role of King sometimes. And you need to learn how to escape it without actually demoting yourself _._ ’

‘I’m sorry?’

Augus paced several steps to the left, came back again, shaking his head abruptly.

‘You didn’t take enough time to yourself in the Seelie Court. You had no support. Your Inner Court are – by and large – supposed to live at the Court. You were in that palace on your own. Also, there should be at least four Inner Court members, so you are not having to worry about everythingyourself. You _know_ this. You’ve read the scrolls. You need to be willing to leave more often, to be in your cabins, to live. The Courts are bad for anyone without breaks. I happen to think the Unseelie Court isn’t quite as constraining, but then I’ve never been a very responsible King. And even so, it is stillconstraining. You will need to leave about...once a month or more I’d say.’

‘No, I couldn’t do that if I were King!’

‘Gwyn, listento me, you _need_ that. They will understand. I don’t mean escaping to explore for a few hours, I mean going to another residence for a week. You can have that. It is allowed.’

‘No, but...I...’

What he’d imagined for himself was so different to what Augus imagined for him. It was absurd. Augus had been a terrible King. Yet everything he said, Gwyn’s heart yearned for it. Getting away from the Unseelie Court, living in cabins again. He could hardly remember those smaller moments where he’d felt more himself.

‘And this is why you need a well-structured Inner Court. The Inner Court status exists _only_ to serve the King or Queen of the time. You need to learn a different style of Kingship, and it won’t be easy. It’s not in your nature to give up control or authority once you’re in an authoritative role. You were a controlling General. Yes, you delegated, but you were known – you are still known – for managing too much yourself.’

‘Augus, I merely-’

‘You’re going to have to learn. Unseelie fae respect fae who are self-serving. If you become what you _think_ a King should be, infuse it with honour, duty, all that other _crap,_ they’ll lose faith in you. They’ll think you were brainwashed in your time deceiving the Seelie Court.’

Gwyn hadn’t considered that, and Augus – at least in that – was right. Unseelie were self-serving. If Gwyn tried to rule like a Seelie King, the Unseelie Kingdom would fracture further, and all Albion would have to do to lazily conquer the rest of the realm was destroy any private military factions remaining.

Gwyn realised his idle comment to Gulvi had been correct – the Unseelie Kingdom, the Court itself, it was all in jeopardy; none of it could survive the year, the decade. He winced. He couldn’t be King. It had to be someone else. It was a responsibility he couldn’t bear.

‘Can I not just become a General and rebuild the military?’

Augus sighed.

‘Gwyn, we need a _King_. No one else is particularly suitable. The Raven Prince wasn’t grooming anyone else into the position except myself, and I ruined his plans. I alienated all the noble families, so we no longer know who is trustworthy. It could be decades before another candidate presented themselves. At least – with you – we know that you have experience, we know that you can defeat great evils and we know that you are clever and learned. Not only that, they are willing to believe in you. As a figurehead representing getting one up on the Seelie Court – and believe me, the Unseelie need that after you defeated _me_ – you are somewhat perfect.’

‘And you? They hate you. How will they react to you being here?’

He wanted Augus with him, in some capacity. He didn’t think he could bear it, otherwise.

‘They think you released me from your custody because you tamed me. But I get the last laugh. You’re the one who goes to your knees for _me._ Knowing that is the truth of the matter makes the public belief that I am _yours_ a little easier to bear.’

‘You want this. You truly think this would work?’

_‘Yes.’_

Augus’ eyes were bright, he was tense.

‘And I could change the palace then and make it more acceptable in appearance?’ Gwyn said. Without Crielle to impress – not that he’d particularly tried to – he could do almost anything he wanted. Training rooms, armouries, a welcoming throne-room, something that opened to the constellations above, perhaps night-gardens.

‘The Unseelie Court is meant to be a beautiful night court. Not what it is now.’

‘I’ve seen paintings of the Raven Prince’s Court. It was lovely. I used to dream of- dream of coming here one day, somehow. Meeting the Raven Prince.’

Augus laughed, looked up at the stars. His eyes wandered across the skies for a minute, before settling on the Aurora Borealis.

‘Oh, he would have hated you. I believe the term he had for people like you was ‘lummox.’’

‘But his Court was-’

‘Yes, lovely. Peaceful. The throne-room was always a bit of a mess, but I think that was a holdover from a previous Court. Everything else though, the lakes, the rivers, the forests, the rooms, even-’

‘I’ll do it.’

Augus spun and faced Gwyn, levelled him with a stare. Gwyn’s hands clenched into fists, relaxed, clenched again. He pressed his back hard into the tree trunk, feeling like he’d been infected with madness, delusion. But over the past week, all he’d noticed was that no one else was stepping up to the burden of it.

‘I’ll do it. With the Inner Court Reversal, with everything you’ve said, and how it...feels here, and- But Augus, if I need to get out, I’m going to need to _go._ And I don’t want to do it for longer than I absolutely have to. As soon as a better candidate comes along, I-’

Augus quickly walked towards him. Gwyn tried to back up, but couldn’t. He looked over the top of Augus’ head. Fingers found his cheeks and stroked them with a tenderness that the Each Uisge should never have been capable of.

‘My dear heart, are you sure?’

‘No. I think you’re all fools. But I can see the merits in what you’re saying. I can withstand more privation for the sake of a Kingdom, and I think that you are right, there is no such thing as freedom.’

‘Oh, _Gwyn,_ you self-sacrificing creature. If I was nobler I’d talk you out of this, but I’m _not._ And I do...in my own way, I _do_ care about this Kingdom. You see what it’s becoming don’t you? You see what it once was? Imagine a world where no one feared the creatures that lived in the dark anymore, where all of us – even you – were nothing more than jokes upon which the Seelie fae built their new reign.’

‘Ash won’t agree,’ Gwyn said, laughing weakly. Fingers rested against his lips, silencing his laughter. Augus was so close that – despite the darkness of the evening around them – Gwyn could count his freckles; even the faint ones that were hard to see.

‘He’s already agreed.’

‘What?’ Gwyn said, confused, against the fingers on his lips.

‘With the stipulation that he be allowed to remain as Inner Court.’

‘But he-’

‘I explained it to him like so: You did everything you were asked to do, and you did it well. But he got caught in the crossfire, and so did I. And, I told him, I did what I wanted, and Gulvi was caught in the crossfire of that. If he can still accept _me,_ then how can he not accept _you_ by the same standards? Of course he doesn’t accept you, but he no longer opposes your Kingship.’

Gwyn opened his mouth to keep talking, but Augus leaned up and in, pressed his lips against Gwyn’s.

‘Shut up,’ Augus whispered. ‘I get you into a new Court and now you don’t shut up.’

Gwyn chuckled against Augus’ mouth, his hands clasped tighter on Augus’ hips.

‘I learned from you, didn’t I?’

‘Oh, _shut up,’_ Augus said, but he smiled as he slanted his lips across Gwyn’s mouth, licking his way inside, silencing him properly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can now happily reveal the title of the sequel, which will be:
> 
>  
> 
> _The Court of Five Thrones_
> 
>  
> 
> And in our next and second-last chapter, 'Coronation:'
> 
> ‘They will think that I am forcing you to do penance,’ Gwyn continued, and Augus wished he’d _stop._ ‘They will not see how things truly are. We must capitalise on rumours first, to build this Court. Because we have _nothing_ else. So much of what we do is story, isn’t it? You said so yourself. And the rumour that you are an obedient creature, that I have tamed you, that you are under my protection and have been made to serve the very underfae that you hurt- I do not know if I want you on my Inner Court, Augus.’


	45. Coronation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second last chapter! OH MY GOD. I'm still in shock over all of it. The final chapter will go up on March 22nd. 
> 
> *
> 
> Massive thanks to all reading, and an extra thank you to those who are commenting, especially on the home stretch where it can be easy to lose momentum (for all of us), and I don't want this to enddddd. *whines* *posts chapter.*

Augus paced the bridge over the river, fingers curling at his sides. Gwyn was off with Gulvi somewhere, preparing _something._ He had little interest in the technicalities of rebuilding a Court. If Gwyn tried to explain the budget to him one more time, he was going to scream.

Ash was out, human-side, getting a drink. Things between Ash and himself were a new kind of tense. They’d had several conversations now: about the note Ash had sent, about his predatory nature, about his irrational vendetta against Gwyn, about how unwelcome Ash’s overprotective, smothering streak was.

They were conversations he wasn’t used to having. He’d always encouraged Ash’s darker, crueller side, even as he’d tried not to snuff out Ash’s compassion and his empathy. Seeing the former directed at Gwyn, and the latter directed at himself, was a divide he couldn’t reconcile. Ash could do what he wanted, but Augus had his own instincts to defend what was his, and those instincts directed him towards Gwyn. Instincts that swam around, hungry fishes wanting to tear at anything that got in his way. Ash’s secret note to Gwyn was a shock, and he’d found out about it by accident. Gwyn would never had said a _word._

Augus knew there was more going on. Gwyn was self-sacrificing, viewed himself as worthless, he wouldn’t object to Ash’s treatment of him.

_He’s always spoken with such reverence of your bond with Ash. He’s jealous of it, and who could blame him? He’ll not tell you a damned thing about how Ash is needling at him._

His boots sounded hollow and heavy over the slats of the bridge, stirring the silver-green fish to scattering, though they always swam back when he paused. Something always set him pacing again. The Soulbond. The open debts Ash and Gwyn had both made. That Gwyn had – at least for now – agreed to become King and Augus still didn’t know what that meant for the both of them, or for him.

They’d had a painful conversation only the day before:

‘Do you wish to be on my Court?’ Gwyn had said, looking up from a book on Unseelie law.

Augus had stared, and in the space of that silence, Gwyn said:

‘Do you know in which capacity you want to serve the Court?’

That rankled. Augus didn’t want to _serve –_ not a Court, nor a King. He didn’t want to rule, no, but he didn’t want to be in service to anyone. He _wouldn’t._ Gwyn had watched him, placed his book down.

‘I’ll not have the new Unseelie Court be a mockery after the last two,’ Gwyn said calmly. ‘If you have nothing to offer a new Court, then you can’t serve on my personal Court.’

Augus forced a sneer, but something painful lodged in his chest. He thought – believed – he’d be by Gwyn’s side, that he had something to offer _Gwyn,_ therefore a Court. Rage flashed through him in sharp, jagged pulses, made the back of his throat taste coppery. His eyes narrowed, the sneer fell from his face, and Gwyn – stupid, pathetic, infuriating Gwyn –seemed to realise he’d said something offensive and leaned forwards in the exact moment that Augus forced himself to stand and walk away from the table.

Gwyn had called his name, sounding tired – he _was_ tired, they both were – but Augus was feeling trapped and powerless enough as it was. He’d escaped to a random, dusty guestroom and torn it apart, furniture snapping in his hands, none of it sating the bitter hunger that moved fluid inside him.

Two nights later, Gwyn finally came back to what was temporarily serving as their bedroom. Augus had returned – wanting to doze – and found Gwyn standing, waiting, looking useless. Augus had no idea how long he’d been waiting. He wished he could find Gwyn better clothing, cut his hair; it was far too long. Even Gwyn said so. They’d just not found the time.

Augus was tempted to throw him out of the room.

‘Augus,’ Gwyn said, already breathless. ‘I can’t be- I have to be different around you when I’m King. In public. I have to be. Do you understand? I am anyway, I’ve always been different when- As a General, then as King. It won’t be the last time I say something to you that you don’t want to hear. I’ve never rebuilt a Kingdom before. It’s no excuse, I know- I did agree to this, but-’

‘Shut up,’ Augus snapped. Gwyn’s mouth shut. His fingers twitched by his side. The coldness that Gwyn had confronted him with half a week before wasn’t visible, drowned in the vulnerability that Gwyn displayed.

Augus sighed.

That was the problem. He’d always known that Gwyn had different facades for dealing with his life. His cold, hard demeanour as King suited his method of Kingship – would even suit the Unseelie Court specifically, because it gave him an air of cruelty, even malice. When Augus found it directed at himself, he found it easy to forget the other, softer layers that lurked.

‘I’ll not _serve,’_ Augus said. ‘I don’t serve _._ I am your equal. And I am not-’

‘-Augus, listen to me,’ Gwyn said. ‘Thinkof how it will look if I treat you as my equal in front of all the noble Court families that _you_ alienated and harmed. It’s going to be- If I have you on my Inner Court – it’s going to look bad enough.’

 _‘If?’_ Augus said.

Gwyn shook his head, looked away.

‘Well, then, I know what will work just fine, sweetness. How about you put me in one of the cells in the Unseelie prison, and it can be just like old times?’

Forced brightness in his voice, hardness on each of his consonants, Gwyn looked miserable. He met Augus’ eyes, appeal in them. Augus shook his head, he’d only wanted to _doze._

Gwyn tried to speak, but no words came and Augus had no patience to wait. He left.

That evening he rested in Ash’s room, curled up on his side while Ash stroked his shoulder. Augus wouldn’t let him close enough to embrace him, stared out at the sumptuous, twisted room feeling adrift.

When he’d been King, slowly ruining the Kingdom, and – really – a great deal of the fae world in the process, he’d felt successful, triumphant. Now, after the way Gwyn casually spoke of his rule as a mockery, implied he had nothing to contribute to a Court...

Augus curled up tighter and willed a doze to come, not responding to Ash’s gentle queries, needing the blackness of something almost like sleep.

*

He wrapped invisibility around himself the next day and followed Gulvi – who carried a basket of apples – into one of the main rooms she and Gwyn worked within. He was surprised at the sheer amount of paper and scroll-work hanging from the wall: glued, pinned, taped. Papers over papers. Many with notes over other notes, items scribbled out. Entire passages struck. Gwyn’s neat calligraphy in a rushed scrawl and Gulvi’s swan-scratchings throughout.

Gwyn immediately took an apple from the basket as Gulvi placed it on the table. He looked over notes. Augus didn’t know if he’d been sleeping, but he suspected that Gwyn was back to avoiding it now that he could use his Inner Court status to hold it off.

‘La! Darling, do you have your final list yet? You said you needed a night.’

‘Here,’ Gwyn said, flicking through what looked like over a hundred pieces of paper and pulling one out with surprisingly neat cursive.

Augus walked over and looked at the list. Approximately forty noble Court families on the left-hand side, detailed by last name only. And then on the right, another fifteen.

‘What do you think?’ Gwyn said, eating the apple, watching Gulvi.

Gulvi’s eyes were narrowed at the list.

‘I’m uncertain about three of these families, Gwyn. Did you add them after we talked? You know very well that they’re all engaged in questionable conduct. They will try and fleece the Court and the other families, it’s in their _nature.’_

‘Don’t other Unseelie know that?’ Gwyn said. ‘Everyone knows that Yallery Brown can’t be trusted. _Everyone.’_

Gulvi sat down on a stool, hunched over the list. She bared her teeth at it. Some families hadn’t belonged to the Raven Prince’s Court, it would shake things up amongst the other Court families if they were invited. Others with favoured reputations had been barred from the Court for crimes committed against it. It was a surprisingly daring list. Augus had expected Gwyn to play it safer. Yet he could see glimmers of genius in it.

‘Ah,’ Gulvi said, her eyes widening. ‘Hand it over, you sneak. Where’s your second list?’

Gwyn ducked his head, sheepish, and drew out a second piece of paper with another list of names on it.

‘La! Yes. In this case, you should add the Fie Ellyllon to your second list. If you’re trying to attract the other Court families via competition and all that other petty gossip, then yes, the Fie Ellyllon do not need an initial invitation, they will fall over themselves with gifts for the Unseelie Court, trying to get into it. They _need_ to be involved, darling.’

‘Are you sure? I’m not as familiar with the Fie. We had surprisingly little to do with them, despite the fact they’re from Wales. They’re secretive.’

 _‘Most_ secretive,’ Gulvi agreed, ‘but they do love gossip. They _hate_ to be left out of the loop. They also have access to a great deal of silver and copper, and they’ll _offer.’_

For, Augus saw, that was Gwyn’s plan – to initially invite back the Unseelie Court families who weren’t likely to want to buy their way in, and then to use those invitations to leverage other noble Court families into making material and monetary offers to secure a place in the Court; increasing the wealth of the Unseelie Court via families Gwyn wanted there anyway. He was targeting species of fae that loved gossip, families that would pay for a place near the central Unseelie Court.

But the Zar belonged on the first list, not the second. Augus ground his teeth together. The Zar would happily turn away from the Unseelie Court if they felt offended enough. They were one of the first families to leave his own Court, even the Raven Prince had trouble keeping them pleased. Yet when they were pleased, they kept a nice stream of wealth flowing in.

Ten minutes later, after intense discussion, Gulvi pointed that out herself and Gwyn moved the name.

Augus held onto the invisibility for several hours, though it wore at him to do so. He was overwhelmed by Gwyn’s almost encyclopaedic knowledge of certain sections of the Unseelie noble Court, not all of it borrowed from militaristic sources. Augus realised, brow furrowing, that alongside his education with Lludd, his mother had to have educated him in Court politics. When, and how that had occurred, he had no idea.

What Augus heard in Gwyn’s voice, most of all, behind the names and the strategies and the tiredness, was heaviness, fear, the weight of it all.

‘Gulvi, I want to make you Queen in Waiting.’

Augus turned, staring.

Gulvi did the same.

‘Fuck _no,_ my dear, you do not.’

‘Yes, I believe I do. You are competent enough to run this Court; you only need more time. I know you don’t like it, none of us like this situation, but were anything to happen to me – and it’s...likely, you know that – or if I ever needed to leave, it needs to be formal. The fae need to know that you will be the one to step up if necessary.’

‘What about Augus?’

_Oh, so now she calls me by my actual name. When I’m not technically here to hear it. Lovely._

Gwyn said nothing for a long moment, then sighed. Augus had to consciously remind himself to remove his nails from his own palm where he’d been digging them in.

‘I don’t want to burden him with a Court environment,’ Gwyn said finally. ‘Not formally. This place, all of it, it’s toxic to him. He’s spent a year trapped in the Seelie Court, half a year in a cell – _don’t_ tell me he deserves longer, I know what you think – and he spent a significant period of time trapped here too.’

Augus wanted to slap his hand over Gwyn’s mouth and make him stop talking in such an open manner. It was too private to be strewn about here, without his knowledge. How many times had Gwyn talked about him like this in the past? What did they know about him now? Was that why Gulvi continued to be so civil towards him?

‘He’s stuck with you now, darling,’ Gulvi said, laughing, wings spreading. ‘We all know that. I expected you to make him King in Waiting, though I am _glad_ to hear that you will not. But it is more than that, is it not? Be honest, he’s a bomb waiting to go off. That – in some tiny way – appeals to my heartsong. But he is, isn’t he? You can never tell with that one. Who knew that he would set off on some quest to find you, and actually _find_ you? Especially given the haphazard nature of his search.’

‘A bomb,’ Gwyn murmured to himself. ‘He is the Each Uisge. I fear...’

Gwyn said nothing, a haunted expression chasing his pale gaze.

_What do you fear?_

Augus needed to know, but Gwyn said nothing more on the subject. Gulvi and Gwyn began talking about merchants and how to generate possible income streams. Augus snuck out an hour later – his head a clutter of thoughts – when Gulvi went to check on her sister.

*

There were training rooms in the Court, but most were tucked away since Augus had found no use for them. Instead he preferred the _formel,_ where he could train with the rapier. He’d been at it for three hours, shedding water faster from his hair, his temperature higher than normal.

He was alert to Gwyn entering, but didn’t stop until he’d finished the drill. It was an old one, taught to him by the Raven Prince.

Gwyn watched nearby, an odd hunger in his eyes. Augus sheathed the rapier at his side and eased off his gloves, tucking them into his belt.

‘You’re very good,’ Gwyn said. Augus shrugged.

‘I was taught by the best, but I am dismally out of practice. Do you want to try?’

Gwyn scoffed, then had the grace to look abashed. Augus glared.

‘No, thank you. I don’t use toothpicks. That’s a Courtier’s weapon.’

‘I’ve killed plenty with a rapier, or an epee,’ Augus said, faintly breathless from the drills, becoming aware he was covered in sweat. Gwyn shrugged one shoulder. He pulled one of the practice rapiers down from where it hung against the wall and turned it in his hands curiously.

Augus was shocked when he grasped the blade in one hand, the hilt in the other. With enough force that he grunted from the strain, he bent the blade in half.

‘Toothpick,’ Gwyn said, holding the damaged weapon upright.

Augus’ expression didn’t change, he was imagining the sounds he would draw out of Gwyn later, the sounds he’d drawn out of him in the past. Gwyn could pass as much insult as he want; no one squealed in quite the same way when he had a cock in him.

‘Well,’ Augus said, voice smooth. ‘I can snap an arrow in two, and look at how much damage one of those did to you _.’_

Gwyn’s grip tightened on the weapon, then he put it down carefully.

‘Well said,’ Gwyn conceded. His arms twitched as though he wanted to fold them.

‘If we’re quite done with the insults, perhaps you might like to tell me what you want?’

Gwyn shifted. Several breaths passed between them. Augus resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He felt tension creeping into him, knew it was because of the Unseelie Court itself. He carried it with him everywhere. There were times he wanted to grasp Gwyn by the ears and force him to change the appearance of the Court; but he wasn’t yet King.

‘Do you know where there is any plate armour? I just wish to see how I do with it.’

‘The stocked armoury is underground,’ Augus said. ‘Did you not find it?’

Gwyn shook his head.

‘I’ll show you,’ Augus said, walking past him and saying nothing more.

*

Augus could tell that Gwyn didn’t want him to stay. He walked away for twenty minutes and then came back, invisible, slunk into the armoury that adjoined to several of the larger training rooms. It was dim, lit by torches only. Gwyn – twenty minutes later – still struggled with a gambeson. It wasn’t something Gwyn normally wore, at least, not one of this thickness, and Augus thought it was a sign of how much pain he was in that he wanted it.

It took a laborious amount of time for Gwyn to put on the plate armour. He knew Gwyn was practiced at putting it on himself, didn’t always have servants to do it for him, but he was obviously slowed significantly by poorly fitting armour and his shoulder. He snarled his way through the worst of the pain, and – at one point – simply paused and growled viciously at the room itself.

It was odd, Augus realised, seeing Gwyn on his own. Seeing a Gwyn that didn’t have to pretend around _anyone._ What shocked him most was seeing the depth of anger in all of Gwyn’s aborted, pained movements; where he yanked on the straps of his leg plates, how he forced down greaves, the glower that wouldn’t leave his face.

It was a revelation. Instead of forcing himself to bear his situation stoically, Gwyn was clearly furious. Augus couldn’t tell if Gwyn was angry at himself for incurring the wound, angry at other people or the rest of the world, but the emotion was there. Sometimes it seemed like he was punishing himself for the injury; but when he tried to put on a breastplate that simply wouldn’t fit, he cursed:

‘ _Fuck_ you, Albion.’

_Well, look at that._

It was quite something to see Gwyn in plate armour again. Though this was dark metal, not the pale creamy metal of his own armour, and it didn’t suit him. It was also poorly maintained, and parts creaked and scraped as he walked into an adjoining room, looking at the longswords. Augus leaned against the wall, yearned for a shower, couldn’t pass up the opportunity to observe Gwyn like this. His invisibility was becoming quite handy.

Gwyn pulled down a longsword and groaned when he lifted it in a two-handed grip. He growled at himself in what was clearly frustration and forced himself to lift it, taking it into the training rooms. The floor was dusty, Gwyn’s steps made prints in it. Several dummies leaned against the walls, and Gwyn dragged out two, one-handed, the sword leaning against the wall.

Augus had to be careful now. He stayed away from the worst of the dust, kept to the shadows. It meant his view wasn’t as good. As Gwyn – retrieving his sword – stepped towards the other side of the room, he licked his lips, curious.

Gwyn lifted the sword slowly, and then twisting his shoulders, swung it slowly one side in an arc, and then the other.

He wrenched to a halt, crying out, one knee buckling. The sword dropped with a clang. His mailed hand was loud as it clattered against his injured shoulder, his breathing harsh.

Augus’ teeth clenched. He looked towards the exit. As Gwyn forced himself to pick up the sword, Augus realised he didn’t know if he could watch this. It wasn’t pain Augus was inflicting on Gwyn for the sake of pleasure in the future. This would just be _pain._ Gwyn didn’t know his limits, he was already breaking out in a sweat. He was out of practice wearing armour, wielding swords, his body was wasted, he was hurt.

Augus’ fingers clenched into fists.

He could see the muscles working in Gwyn’s jaw as he slammed his teeth together and forced himself – viciously – through the figure eight twist he’d tried to complete before. At the most painful point, his eyes squeezed shut, the noise that pressed from the back of his throat was barely restrained.

But once Gwyn knew he could do that much, he began one of his own drills, moving through the steps with contained power. He may have lost muscle, strength, even the ability to move as seamlessly as before, but the training showed itself in the way he turned his feet precisely per step, how he would minutely alter his grip as needed, the small shifts, the way his eyes looked directly ahead, as though staring down an opponent.

Thirty minutes later and either Gwyn’s shoulder was warming up or he was getting better at withstanding the pain.

So it was unexpected when Gwyn – after thrusting the sword into an invisible enemy with two hands – made a noise that was startlingly vulnerable, and then collapsed in a jumbled heap of metal to the ground.

Augus lurched forwards, heart beating a heavy drum in his chest. He stopped himself with a wrench, exhaling shakily.

He couldn’t. He wasn’t even supposed to _be_ there.

He stared, eyes wide, reminding himself that Gwyn was Inner Court now, he wasn’t starving to death, he hadn’t just been injured, he wasn’t dying, he’d withstood Tigbalan, he’d likely just reached his limitations and not known it, he’d...

Minutes ticked by. Augus kept telling himself that if Gwyn wasn’t up in a minute, or the next, or the next, he’d go over there and make sure he was alright. But he held himself back. Gwyn was Inner Court.

‘Wake up, you fool,’ Augus hissed.

His hands clawed into nothing.

It was another five minutes before Gwyn made a small, pathetic noise and then looked up with clinks and clangs of metal, staring around with wide eyes. When he saw no one else in the room with him, his forehead fell back to the floor again, he made the same, pained sound again.

‘Get up,’ he whispered to himself. ‘Get _up.’_

But Gwyn didn’t move. More time passed before his fingers scraped across the ground.

‘You _idiot,_ get _up!’_

The tone he used against himself was scathing. Augus wasn’t sure he’d heard him use it against anyone else before, even during the early days of being Gwyn’s prisoner. But it was only then that Gwyn – in a series of shaky, jerky stops and starts – managed to push himself upright. He hissed every exhale from clenched teeth. When he bent down to pick the sword, he shook his head rapidly, curls falling around his face.

Augus didn’t want to watch anymore. Not when it became obvious that Gwyn wasn’t going to stop.

Gwyn heaved the sword up, fumbled it when his shoulder wouldn’t cooperate. He muttered in frustration. Augus realised that Gwyn had switched to several other languages, _none_ of which he was familiar with. It was the first time that he could remember Gwyn slipping absently like that.

He tried to lift the sword again and he couldn’t seem to get his right shoulder to move the sword up past his elbows.

Gwyn rumbled out his frustration.

His head snapped up, he wrenched his shoulder into place, roared in rage and in a frenzy of movement, stepped through a drill so fast he became a blur. Metal plates shrieked against each other. The terrible roar didn’t stop until Gwyn smashed the sword down into one of the dummies he’d dragged into place, splitting the wood and nicking the metal of the sword from the force of his actions. Splinters flew everywhere.

Gwyn wrenched the sword free and destroyed the second dummy.

He flung the sword away from himself. It spun, brutally cutting through air, before it hit the wall with a resounding clang and fell with a clatter.

Gwyn hunched forward, breathing heavily, each exhale a dry sob.

‘Fuck,’ he muttered. ‘Fuck, fuck, _fuck.’_

He reached to the straps securing his armour in place, hurriedly removed the pauldron from his right shoulder, throwing each piece of subsequent metal to the floor. For someone who had treated his own, Glasera-won armour with such care, it was a shock to see Gwyn treat anything with such callous disdain. But every piece of plate armour got the same treatment.

Augus left just as Gwyn pressed his hand to his sore shoulder and went oddly silent, swaying.

He’d seen enough.

*

They’d decided to stay in the guest-room because Augus insisted he liked seeing a reminder of what Gwyn’s light could do. He thought it was good, controlled exposure for Gwyn. After all, it was his power, he’d have to get used to it at some point.

Augus re-arranged the room. Found a cloth, eucalyptus oil and started wiping down the furniture, ridding the room of dust, giving himself something to do. The fae employed to look after the Court had their hands full carrying missives, ordering food; cleaning hadn’t been at the top of their list for some time. It was satisfying bringing the wood back to its original gleam, polishing porcelain.

Gwyn came that evening, clean wet hair curling into ringlets under his jaw, around his neck. He paused when he noticed how clean the room was, his eyes finding Augus sitting in the chair by the large wooden vanity. Augus shifted the pair of scissors precisely with his hands, then the brush and other items he had gathered. He met Gwyn’s eyes in the mirror.

‘I’m cutting your hair. It’s atrocious.’

Gwyn didn’t protest. When Augus stepped out of the chair and indicated Gwyn should sit in it, Gwyn sat down without a word.

Augus picked up the scissors and met Gwyn’s gaze in the mirror. He lifted Gwyn’s hair with a hand and keeping hold of Gwyn’s sight, pressed cold metal lightly against the back of Gwyn’s neck.

Gwyn’s eyes widened, he stiffened.

‘You should know better than to trust me with blades around your skin,’ Augus purred.

He traced the point of the scissors back and forth, keeping his movements slow and soft. Gwyn met Augus’ eyes, his breathing turning shallow, his eyelids fluttering when Augus trailed the scissors up behind Gwyn’s ear and pressed faintly into that fragile skin. Augus followed the path the scissors had taken with his fingers, stroked his thumb over the skin near Gwyn’s ear. Gwyn shivered, his hands moved where they were resting on the table and lay on his thighs instead.

Augus picked up the comb, looked at Gwyn’s hair critically as he combed it. If he distracted them both too much now with sensuality, nothing would get done.

He was, thankfully, used to cutting curly hair. Getting through Gwyn’s thinner, softer curls was far easier than the rough, bouncier texture of Ash’s mane. He didn’t have to worry about shearing through waterweed. Ash usually cut his own hair, but every now and then he came over and asked Augus to neaten it up, usually before he wanted to go somewhere important. Gwyn was patient, he didn’t talk non-stop as Ash often did, didn’t jerk his head around.

‘Who cut your hair when you were a child?’

‘The housekeeper,’ Gwyn murmured. His eyes were closed. He actually looked – _surprise, surprise_ – relaxed.

‘She taught you good manners.’

Augus brushed excess hair away, traced his nails over Gwyn’s hairline, enjoying the weight of his curls in his fingers. Gwyn leaned back, minutely, then straightened. Augus tugged him back into his relaxed position, dragged his fingers from Gwyn’s forehead back through his hair, over his scalp. Gwyn’s head tilted back further, his breath caught.

‘I spy, with my little eye, a Gwyn who told Gulvi today that he was scared of- What? You didn’t finish your sentence, sweetness.’

Gwyn’s eyes opened. Augus’ hands tightened on Gwyn’s head as he tried to lean away.

‘Shouldn’t give invisibility to an Unseelie waterhorse,’ Augus whispered. ‘You never know where we might turn up.’

 _‘Augus,’_ Gwyn said, and Augus hushed him, stroked the back of his fingers over Gwyn’s cheek. They looked at each other in the mirror.

‘Am I a bomb that’s about to go off?’ Augus said. ‘You didn’t seem to think so. You never truly agreed with her. Only said that I was the Each Uisge. What could that _possibly_ mean? Talk to me, Gwyn. Properly.’

Augus picked up the scissors with his other hand and pressed the sharp, closed tip against Gwyn’s cheek. Gwyn’s eyes flickered, stared at the blade in his reflection. He shivered again. Augus trailed the scissors down until they were pressing to the underside of his ear.

‘Tsk. Words, Gwyn. Use them.’

When Augus began tracing the blade down the side of his neck, firmly enough to burn, but not hard enough to break skin, Gwyn’s mouth went slack. His eyes closed.

‘Look at you,’ Augus breathed. ‘Am I distracting you? Are you scared I might do something dangerous?’

He trailed the scissors lower, then used force to penetrate the skin of Gwyn’s good shoulder, drawing a bead of blood that was followed by a trickle. Gwyn made a noise of pain, but Augus smelled no fear from him. Instead, Gwyn jerked in the chair, sagged backwards. Augus reached around with his other arm and draped it across Gwyn’s chest, bowing over him. Claw-tips found the collar of his shirt, and he smoothed his hand beneath soft fabric, placing his palm over Gwyn’s chest as he dug the scissors deeper into muscle.

Gwyn whimpered. Augus measured his heartbeat, his nostrils flared. _Now_ he picked up the faintest tang of fear.

‘Does it remind you of an arrow?’ Augus said. ‘It hurts, doesn’t it? Do you remember when you shoved that arrow into my shoulder? And yet, Gwyn, I do believe you’re getting hard. Your poor, confused cock. I was only cutting your hair.’

Gwyn opened his eyes and looked dazed into Augus’, blinking at him. He bent his arm, placed his hand over Augus’, where it rested on his chest.

Augus withdrew the scissors slowly, ignored the two trickles of blood that spilled from the messy puncture. It would heal quickly. He had plenty of time later to get Gwyn close to blades and watch him move into that lovely, yearning headspace where he would let Augus do whatever he wanted.

He placed the scissors down on the table, shifted both of his hands until both were resting on Gwyn’s injured shoulder.

He’d had an idea.

‘Augus, I said-’

‘Wait,’ Augus said, spreading his hands over ruined flesh, palpating softly. Even that much made Gwyn squirm. ‘This is different. I want to try something.’

Gwyn watched, eyes wide, mouth pulled together, as Augus slid one hand underneath the shirt directly onto the scar tissue. With the other, he braced Gwyn’s shoulder, placing a firm hand under his armpit, keeping him still. He could feel the tension in Gwyn’s muscles and tendons. Augus tried to meet Gwyn’s eyes, to offer something of reassurance, but Gwyn had looked away. A wild animal caught.

‘Augus, I don’t think you should be doing this right now. It’s worse than usual.’

Augus hummed in acknowledgement, but his fingers were moving over skin, searching muscle and bone. The meridians in Gwyn’s shoulder were different, nothing felt right. Not only that, but he was out of practice. He knew there were more effective pressure points, but he had to play it safe. He’d seen how Aleutia’s treatment of Gwyn earlier had changed his entire posture for the day.

‘I want you to be patient,’ Augus said. ‘Alright? It will hurt more at first, but eventually this should help you.’

_Ah, there it is._

Augus shifted his grip, dug his fingers in under Gwyn’s armpit, even as he knuckled into a spot above Gwyn’s shoulder blade.

Gwyn made a horrible sound, mouth falling open, eyes turning glassy. His whole body jerked forwards.

‘Hush,’ Augus said quickly, gritting his teeth at the tension he found in the muscles. It wasn’t just fatigue, it was constant strain. Gwyn would – he thought – possibly need regular massages and pressure point treatment to keep the pain manageable.

Gwyn’s head snapped up, he glared at Augus.

‘I’ve dealt with worse,’ he said, defensive, voice hoarse.

Augus increased the pressure and Gwyn’s lips thinned on what would have surely been another noise.

‘Chronic pain is not the same as torture,’ Augus said calmly. ‘Even torture for two weeks still ends. But you’ve been dealing with this for months and it’s different. I know, in moments, you have dealt with worse pain. But it is always somewhat eased by the fact that you know it is but a moment, isn’t it? Whether that moment is a second, a minute, an hour, or even days. But here, _this,_ Aleutia has told you that this will stay with you for the rest of your life. Chronic pain is its own kind of torture, sweetness.’

Gwyn shook his head rapidly, tried to jerk his shoulder out of Augus’ grip. Augus’ hands tightened.

‘Easy, not much longer, I promise.’

He counted out the seconds, his body a counterpoint to Gwyn’s tension, keeping him in place. Gwyn was strong enough that – even if paralysed with pain – one struggle and he’d be free. Either Gwyn didn’t realise that, or a part of him was curious to see what Augus was doing. Perhaps both.

With a twist of his fingers, he dug a fingertip into a second pressure point and swore under his breath when he couldn’t find it. Aleutia wasn’t wrong when she’d said that Kabiri had scrambled his shoulder. Nerves weren’t doing what they were supposed to do. He blew out his breath, inhaled slowly and found the empty, still refuge in his mind, the lake that never produced any ripples. From there, he could sense Gwyn’s meridians again, and-

_There, nowhere near where it’s supposed to be._

He grit his teeth and pressed into the spot hard, simultaneously letting go of the first point. The response was immediate. Gwyn went limp on the chair, sagging significantly with a choked sound of relief. Augus held him upright with the hand under his arm. He rubbed small, persistent circles into the pressure point and Gwyn’s head tilted to the side, his mouth open. Exhales that sounded like disbelief fell from them.

‘This is temporary,’ Augus said, wishing it wasn’t. ‘But if you’ll let me, repeated treatments like this will make the pain easier to bear. There are some salves I could make, perhaps. Plants that sing to the nerves. I’ll look into it. I have to be careful with this, Gwyn.’

Gwyn blinked open wide eyes that were wet with tears. He stared up at Augus in wonder and – Augus’ brow furrowed to see it – fear. And that was when he realised he could smell it in the air around him.

‘You- You have too much power over me,’ Gwyn said. ‘I’m- I’m- I need you on my Court. Yet, strategically it makes more sense to keep you away, to show them my power over you, even though it would only be a farce, since you and I know the truth, don’t we? I fear giving you more power over me than you already have. And now you can do this? I have nothing proportionate to offer you. Not the Soulbond; which was Ash’s decision. Not my protection, for the Unseelie Court is so weak.’

Augus stared.

‘I- I fear the power you’ve always held over me. For, Augus, you know very well that you cannot be trusted.’

That much was true. Augus would never expect anyone other than Ash to trust him. He coveted Gwyn’s trust, but knew he would abuse it. That wasn’t just a matter of his Unseelie nature, it was a knowledge that came after he’d been kept down in the dark for a year, tortured and tormented. Something inside himself had corrupted. Where he wished to find stability within, he knew he was no longer truly stable. His entire mind was once a still lake with clear waters that only rippled and became turbulent when he wished it, or when someone encroached on his territory. Now he had to consciously seek the calm places.

Augus eased off slowly from the pressure point, slid his hand out from underneath Gwyn’s arm. As much as he wanted to keep pressure on it forever, he couldn’t. The nerves were sensitive and manipulating a pressure point for too long – for healing or harm – was dangerous. He moved both hands away from Gwyn’s shoulder and burrowed fingers into his hair with one hand, rubbed his thumb over the wound in his opposite shoulder with the other. Gwyn stayed limp on the chair. It was, he thought, the most relaxed he’d seen him since he’d been tormented and fucked into oblivion after Augus had tested him on the cross.

‘I don’t think it’s wise for you to be a member of the Inner Court,’ Gwyn said, and Augus paused his movements.

He hadn’t realised how badly he wanted to be a member of that Inner Court until – unbelievably – it turned out Gwyn was hesitating over having him there.

‘My brother has it as a requirement,’ Augus said. ‘I wish to make sure he is not under too much pressure. And you are a fool if you think I have nothing to offer.’

‘It’s not only that,’ Gwyn said. ‘I haven’t made up my mind yet, Augus. I can’t simply put you there because I want you there. Every decision I make has a ripple effect, and my personal desires cannot get in the way of-’

‘You’re supposed to be self-serving,’ Augus hissed. ‘You’re _Unseelie.’_

‘I’m not supposed to be a fool!’ Gwyn said, pushing himself upright and levelling him with one of those cold, disapproving glares. ‘You were the Advisor to the Raven Prince, and you _overthrew_ him. You can deny that you did, some still believe the Raven Prince simply moved onto the next stage of his life, but I _know_ that you did. If I take you on as my Personal Advisor, there are those in the Unseelie and Seelie Courts who will suspect that you are not tamed, after all.’

‘Give me the underfae,’ Augus said in a rush, stepping away from Gwyn. ‘Give me purview over the underfae.’

‘After everything you’ve done to them?’ Gwyn said, twisting in the chair. ‘Augus, you-’

‘-Who is better though, truly, to take up the position? I’ve been underfae and I’m proud of it. I know what it is to live as underfae in a way that you _still_ can’t, because you haven’t survived it like I have. And you can use it to your advantage. Then I would not just be your Advisor, you could tell everyone that I am serving the Unseelie underfae as penance for my crimes. For, Gwyn, I’ll primarily be hearing the fates and appeals of those who have no land, and some of that land I destroyed myself. They will believe that it’s penance. That you are trying to reform me.’

Gwyn shook his head slowly, lips pursing.

‘Why would you do that to yourself? _Is_ it penance?’

‘No! You fool, of course it’s not! It’s the simple fact that underfae have always been woefully underrepresented in the Court, and you _listen_ to me. The Unseelie Kingdom is in a precarious position. What is the class first used as military fodder on the frontlines to prove their _worthiness_ to the higher classes? Underfae. And which fae will have their land taken from them by other higher class fae, with no recourse, no way of defending themselves? Underfae. You cannot raise them all to a higher status, but they can at least have someone advocating for them.’

It would mean dealing with the complaints of those who had very little power, very little chance to change their situations. In most cases, he wouldn’t be able to help them. It would mean fae assuming that he was something he wasn’t.

At some point he would have to acknowledge the fact that the fae world was going to think he was tamer than he truly was. He could frame it as a joke, as a secret, a hidden knowledge he could gloat over in private...but it scraped away at him, injured his pride.

Augus stopped pacing, hadn’t realised he’d been pacing. Gwyn stood slowly. His posture was already different. He was holding his shoulder better.

‘They will think you are a pet,’ Gwyn said, his voice terribly even. ‘You, the Each Uisge, one of the most terrifying creatures in all the land; in more than one realm – they will think you are a _pet_. And, because we want to have a single hope of keeping you away from as many assassination attempts as possible, we will have to toe that line. You will have to listen to me. Obey me. In public, if I disagree with you, even if you have a sound argument, you will have to cede to me. I don’t think you can. And you cannot tell me that you can. I saw what that Display did to you, Augus. If you are in the throne-room, by my side, following my orders like a horse, tell me that won’t wear at you?’

Augus reminded himself to stay in the calm, still place. To stay by still waters. To turn his mind to darkness. His nerves jangled.

Gwyn stepped towards him, and he tensed.

‘They will think that I am forcing you to do penance,’ Gwyn continued, and Augus wished he’d _stop._ ‘They will not see how things truly are. We must capitalise on rumours first, to build this Court. Because we have _nothing_ else. So much of what we do is story, isn’t it? You said so yourself. And the rumour that you are an obedient creature, that I have tamed you, that you are under my protection and have been made to serve the very underfae that you hurt- I do not know if I want you on my Inner Court, Augus.’

‘I need to be there,’ Augus said, automatically. His voice sounded lifeless.

Augus moved back when Gwyn’s hand came and rested over the side of his head. Gwyn followed, and Augus almost laughed.

_Learning some bad habits from me, sweetness._

Gwyn’s fingers stroked at the back of Augus’ scalp, through his mane. Tingles moved down the back of his neck. Pooled in his lower spine.

‘I can’t make a decision now and the Coronation is in two days. I may not have made a decision then. There are more good reasons to keep you away from my Inner Court. I fear what may happen to you. I fear the power you hold. I fear others underestimating you to their peril. I fear your vindictiveness, your bitterness, for all that I wouldn’t change it.’

Augus held still when Gwyn leaned down. His fingers curled at his side when soft lips met his, gentle and lingering. Augus’ eyes closed. What a novelty this was. Gwyn, who rarely volunteered touch.

Gwyn withdrew, blushing, awkward. Augus licked at his lips, wanted to sink his claws into Gwyn’s skin, to debauch him. To have him crying and screaming for mercy and then – only then – make him deliver more of those sweet, chaste kisses.

‘The things I want to do to you,’ Augus breathed. ‘You can’t begin to imagine.’

Gwyn’s eyes snapped to Augus’, a voracity turning them bright.

‘What about everything else?’

Matters of the Inner Court, of what his future might look like; he didn’t want to think about it.

‘I’m quite surprised at how quickly you’ve taken to being King again, the idea of it. For all that you hate it, you already act as though you are King.’

Gwyn’s brow furrowed, he rubbed at his shoulder absently. Augus realised, annoyed, the pain must be returning. He’d bought hardly more than a few minutes.

‘I don’t believe in half-measures,’ Gwyn said finally. ‘If I commit to being King, then I commit to that. I believe in being responsible to the roles I have placed myself in. I do not want to be King, but I will not hide from those responsibilities. So, if I have said I will do it, and Gulvi and Ash have said they will perform an Inner Court Reversal, then I must already be as close to King as one can be, in these circumstances.’

Gwyn pressed the heel of his palm into his shoulder and winced.

‘Do you think I _don’t_ want to hide from all of this?’

Augus couldn’t think of a reply. It occurred to him that they were having a proper conversation about something. Not Augus needling at him for answers, painstakingly pulling every single one from him. Gwyn was volunteering information. Was admitting to philosophies he believed in. Was _talking_ to him. He liked it. Listening to the roll of his deep voice, his precise diction, that hint of sternness always waiting in the background, as though he was only ever two or three seconds away from a lecture.

He’d been closed up for days, and then with two pressure points unlocking muscles in his shoulder, something else had unlocked.

_I might have to be more diligent about making sure I help with that shoulder of yours._

‘You’re going to need me,’ Augus said, smirking. ‘Remember how you ran that Seelie Court into the ground, because you didn’t have somewhere to go, someone to talk to? A way to get rid of all that stress of yours?’

Augus walked around Gwyn, pausing at his back. Gwyn stilled, attuned to Augus, then shivered when Augus curled fingers around his hip.

‘Remember? You lose your way, sweetness. You need someone who holds power over you. Who can make you forget everything for a little while.’

He curled his other hand around Gwyn’s other hip and tugged Gwyn until he pressed his hips and chest flush against Gwyn’s back. He slid his hands forward, a slow embrace that ended with his fingertips below the hem of Gwyn’s pants, scraping over taut, soft skin. Augus listened with delight as Gwyn’s breathing altered, unsteadied, rose and fell with every movement of Augus’ hands. Though he wasn’t touching Gwyn’s cock, he could feel the way the fabric of his pants shifted as Gwyn started to get hard.

‘It’s been some time, hasn’t it? Since I’ve bound you, bled you properly. Your pants feel like they might be a bit uncomfortable.’

Augus hooked his thumb over the outside of the hem and dragged the fabric back against Gwyn’s cock, chafing him deliberately. Gwyn squirmed, but caught between Augus’ back and his hands, there wasn’t anywhere to go.

‘I don’t suppose I’m helping much,’ Augus purred.

‘Not much,’ Gwyn said, voice higher than usual. Augus forced his hand into the tightness of his pants and wrapped his hand firmly around his cock, rocking forwards with his whole body as he dragged the sensitive head of his cock up against the inside of the fabric. Gwyn’s hips bucked to get away, and Augus pushed against him, feet firmly planted.

‘I don’t believe I’ve ever made you come in your pants before like some teenager. Now might be a good time to start.’

‘I don’t have many clothes, Augus,’ Gwyn said, hesitant.

‘Do I _feel_ like someone who cares about that?’

Augus moved his hand along Gwyn’s length, his hand catching on occasion. With no lubricant to ease the way, it was rougher than usual, coarser, but then Gwyn liked that. When he reached the head of him, he wrapped his fingers around hot skin, pushed the tip of his index finger into the slit. Gwyn didn’t seem to know what to do. His head twisted sideways, as though he wanted to make eye-contact, but Augus was too close. Gwyn made a thin sound of frustration, need. He trembled.

‘I want you for _hours,_ but we don’t have hours do we? Let alone days. Oh, can you imagine what I could do with _days?’_

‘Augus, we can’t. Not until...the dust has settled. You could- You could talk me into anything like this.’

Augus laughed under his breath, worked his wrist back and forth in the tight space, ignored the ache that immediately broadcast itself. Gwyn’s hand came and rested on Augus’ forearm, his grip tightened as though to stop him.

‘No,’ Augus commanded. ‘Let go.’

‘But-’

‘ _What_ did I just say?’ Augus snapped, pushing the fingers of his other hand underneath Gwyn’s shirt and digging his claws past the barrier of his skin, drawing blood. Gwyn’s hand leapt away from Augus’ forearm in an instant. ‘Your recalcitrance and rebelliousness is lovely, Gwyn, but don’t push your luck.’

Gwyn cried out when Augus increased the rhythm, made it rougher, made sure the head of his cock was snagging on the fabric.

‘Ah, that has to hurt,’ Augus said, with a faux concern.

Gwyn’s trembling increased. Augus raised an eyebrow. Gwyn became so overwhelmed by sensation so quickly, that without being tied to an object – like a cross – Augus wasn’t certain he would remain standing through an orgasm. Then again, perhaps that stoic inner warrior of his would come out and lend him a hand.

He bit his lip. He had an idea.

‘So, am I on your Court?’ Augus said, keeping his voice light, his motions rough.

‘ _Augus,_ perhaps- Perhaps...we might talk about this...later.’ Every pause a gasp, a series of indrawn breaths. Augus hummed speculatively.

‘No,’ he breathed. ‘Now. Am I, or am I not on your Court?’

‘You can’t manipulate your way- You can’t _fuck_ your way onto the Court,’ Gwyn said, the edge of a snarl in his voice.

‘Can’t I?’ Augus said, speeding up the motions of his hand until he could feel the dampness of precome that had seeped into the fabric. He could smell Gwyn’s arousal thick in the air around them. ‘Damn it, I suppose you’re right.’

In an instant he withdrew his hand, stepped away from Gwyn. He watched Gwyn blink, shocked. Gwyn swayed where he stood. His cock made a rather impressive tent in the fabric, which was satisfyingly damp.

‘I should go,’ Augus smiled. ‘I feel like a walk.’

‘Augus, you...’ Gwyn ground his teeth together. ‘You-’

‘Are you flushed because you were about to come? Or livid because you won’t get yourself off?’

‘Augus!’ Gwyn shouted. Augus had to laugh. Gwyn’s hands were clenched into fists, his spine hunched slowly. Augus decided that leaving Gwyn hanging was one of his new favourite things. ‘You are a manipulative, foul creature.’

‘Thank you,’ Augus beamed, showed entirely too many teeth. ‘Anything else? A position on your Inner Court? I forget, is this more or less likely to end with me on the team?’

Gwyn was hardly concentrating on what Augus was saying. Augus watched, amused, as Gwyn gingerly sat on the chair again, his hand hovering on his thigh.

‘I don’t like this development,’ Gwyn ground out.

‘So much of life is about not getting what we want,’ Augus drawled. ‘Isn’t that your life philosophy? I forget.’

Gwyn didn’t look up, but Augus saw the moment Gwyn bared his teeth, that flash of anger. Augus bit at his lower lip to see it. That was delicious.

‘You could ask me, you know. You are capable.’

Gwyn swallowed, leaned forward on the chair. His erection wasn’t disappearing, and Augus licked at his lips. He had half a mind to leave, but he knew that Gwyn could become stubborn in this mood. Could end up cutting himself off from physical contact for days. This was the first time they’d had anything like a real conversation in some time.

‘Ask me,’ Augus said, voice soft.

‘You’ll say no,’ Gwyn said. ‘I know how this works.’

Augus’ eyes narrowed. That was the closest Gwyn had come to admitting that he wanted to, without simply saying an inarticulate ‘please.’ His heart quickened. He hadn’t expected that Gwyn would be able to ask, but perhaps with chronic pain wearing at his defences, anger making him more free when he spoke, it might be possible.

‘You _know_ I have a vested interest in you learning how to ask for pleasure. You _know_ that. Do you want me to finish you off? Or shall I just leave you? I could go find another shower, another guest-room, finish _myself_ off. That would be very nice.’

Gwyn’s look at Augus was so baleful that Augus almost smiled at him just to see if he’d snap. He held the reaction back, but Gwyn must have seen something – a twinkle in his eye perhaps – because his jaw tightened, his frown became more pronounced.

‘Sweetness, it’s so easy. You just say, ‘Augus, please make me come.’ Or ‘I _want_ you to make me come.’ Or some variation. You’ve said far harder things.’

A long pause, and Gwyn looked away.

‘I hate this game,’ he growled.

Augus suppressed his sigh. Gwyn didn’t believe he deserved to ask for what he wanted. And he didn’t believe he’d get it even if he did. Augus thought he might be going about this the wrong way.

‘Alright,’ Augus said, turning the situation over calmly in his mind. ‘Alright, Gwyn, let me make it easier for you. If you ask me, now, to bring you off, I will do that. If you don’t. You will still get to come. It just won’t be now. It will be at a time of my choosing. The only difference your words will make is _when_ it happens, not if it happens at all. Do you understand?’

He walked closer until he stood by Gwyn’s side, one hand tickling up over the back of Gwyn’s neck, into his hair. Gwyn’s blood was a sharp scent in the air, his precome a thicker, muskier one. Augus closed his eyes. He craved a longer scene. Needed one. But they were still getting used to spending more than ten minutes in the same room together. He rued not having a room of his own, set up already. He missed the discreet skills of the trows. There was no way he’d trust the common fae to help him, and even his rooms in his home in his lake weren’t properly furnished yet.

Gwyn shifted in frustration, his feet scraped against the floor, his hands fisted in his lap.

‘Please, Augus,’ Gwyn said, his voice faint, grudging.

‘No, sweetness. Not begging. I’m not asking you to beg.’

‘I want...’

Followed by nothing at all for several long minutes. At this rate, Gwyn was going to be soft by the time he got the words out. _If_ he ever got the words out.

‘Will you-?’

The internal struggle that Gwyn was going through was fascinating to watch. Augus couldn’t see the expression on his face, but he could feel the tension in his body, the constant shift from frustration to need to uncertainty to fear. Augus bent down and scraped his teeth over the vertebrae at the base of Gwyn’s neck.

Gwyn moaned.

‘Augus, please, I want...I- _Fuck._ ’

_He’s wearing himself out on this and he might not be ready for it. Still, the attempt is laudable._

‘Perhaps not today then,’ Augus said. ‘Don’t worry, Gwyn, you’ll get what you want eventually.’

Augus straightened and walked towards the door, trying not to let his sadness eclipse the pride he felt at how far Gwyn had come. It was a step forward, but Augus wanted more than broken sentences.

He opened the door, closed it behind him. He sighed even as he caught the words through the door:

‘Augus, will you- Will you make me come?’

Quiet enough, desperate enough that Gwyn didn’t expect to be heard. That he could only say it when he was, perhaps, sure that Augus wouldn’t respond.

_But I did hear. So it counts._

Augus turned, opened the door, locked it behind him even as Gwyn’s head snapped up. The surprise in his pale blue eyes confirmed everything. He hadn’t expected a response.

‘Augus, you-’

‘Up,’ Augus said. ‘Up, palms against the wall. _Now.’_

Gwyn got to his feet so quickly that the chair almost tipped over. But even that wasn’t fast enough, and Augus manhandled him to the wall with his weight, pushing him against it face first and keeping one of his hands over Gwyn’s, pinning him. Gwyn was trying to say something, confusion laced in his tone, and Augus ignored it, thrust his other hand directly into Gwyn’s pants.

He was half-hard. He must have been sensitive, he jolted when Augus caught him in a firm grip.

‘Good,’ Augus crooned, jerking him back to full hardness with a merciless pace that was faster than he would have liked, but suited Gwyn’s appreciation for rough handling. ‘Lean forward a little more, that’s it. _Good.’_

Gwyn whimpered, his forehead thumped against the wall, fingers curled against it.

‘This will be quick, won’t it?’ Augus said. Gwyn groaned, his head lolled, though whether he was agreeing or simply unable to respond, Augus couldn’t tell. His grip was too tight, his pace too fast, and he angled his wrist so that he could press the head of Gwyn’s cock up against the seam in his pants with each firm pull. Augus rolled his hips against Gwyn’s ass, slid his fingers around Gwyn’s wrist against the wall and tightened his grip.

Augus spread his legs, rested them against Gwyn’s. He thrust his hips upwards, wondering what it might be like to have Gwyn up against a wall. Gwyn was taller than he was, but Augus’ legs were longer, and if he rose to his tiptoes with every thrust, he was sure he could make the position work. His cock twitched between his legs and he smiled to himself. There were so many things he wanted to do with Gwyn, _to_ Gwyn. Even base things that had never appealed to him in the past.

‘What have you done to me, hm?’ Augus said, his voice becoming menacing. Gwyn couldn’t respond, he couldn’t catch his breath, his cock a hard, heavy weight in Augus’ hand. He could feel the occasional twitch, knew Gwyn was close. Gwyn moaned, unable to stop, though Augus could hear him try. ‘Tugging you off like some fae teenager, you taking it like you’re not about to become King.’

‘Gods,’ Gwyn sobbed, his fingers flexing. Augus moved his fingers alongside Gwyn’s, curled them until their hands were fisted together. With his other, he shifted his grip, pressed the edge of his nail down into the slit of Gwyn’s cock.

Gwyn’s hips tried to buck away from the sharpness of it, but Augus repeated the motion, baring his teeth.

Gwyn stiffened, keened his way through the first spasm of orgasm, liquid heat feeling like it was scalding Augus’ fingers. Augus kept jerking Gwyn off, his motions fast, and Gwyn cried out short broken sounds as he bucked his hips, as his legs shook. Gwyn’s cries became increasingly pained and Augus loosened his grip and slowed his pace until finally he stopped. He was pressed so close to Gwyn’s back that every heaving inhale moved his body.

He wrinkled his nose as he drew his hand out of Gwyn’s pants, trailing come along his skin, over the fabric of his pants, cleaning himself on any part of Gwyn he could reach.

‘You’ll have to shower again,’ Augus whispered.

Gwyn’s forehead leaned against the wall, his hair – shorter – still fell around his face, framing it. Augus couldn’t resist sliding his fingers shallowly into Gwyn’s open mouth, painting his tongue with the taste of him. Gwyn’s tongue lapped at the pads of his fingers clumsily, the inside of his mouth cooler than usual from panting so much.

Augus went to remove his hand from Gwyn’s, but Gwyn held on. Gwyn’s fingers tightened around his. Augus tugged a few times, and Gwyn’s hand loosened. Augus pulled free and shifted so that he was at Gwyn’s side, leaning against the wall and kissing at the side of Gwyn’s mouth, even as his fingers stroked over Gwyn’s tongue.

‘There,’ Augus said, his breath pressing against Gwyn’s skin. ‘There, you asked, and the world didn’t end.’

Gwyn groaned, quiet, closed his mouth so that Augus’ fingers were resting against his lips, and then started mouthing soft, tender kisses against Augus’ palm.

Augus shivered. His cock was still soft, but it twitched again at the treatment.

But Augus didn’t want to lose himself in pleasure. Not now. He wanted to wait until later, wanted to savour the sweet pain of it. Reluctantly he stepped backwards, cupping Gwyn’s cheek as he went before sliding his fingers away.

‘What about you?’ Gwyn said, turning to him, a tired confusion on his face. Tiredness – Augus knew – not only from working so hard, but from wrestling with his own demons over whether or not to ask for the orgasm.

‘I don’t work the same way as you, Gwyn. I don’t have a spring in my cock.’

‘But-’

‘Not now,’ Augus said, half-smiling. He _still_ didn’t know if Gwyn was going to put him on his Inner Court or not. His position was precarious. It shouldn’t have been, but it was. ‘I’m going to go for a walk.’

‘But, Augus, you-’

‘Shower again. I’ll see you soon. Besides, I have to be there at the Coronation. I’m Inner Court, after all.’

Gwyn’s expression didn’t alter even as Augus left. The crinkles in his forehead, the pull of his eyebrows, and the faint frown imprinted on Augus’ mind as he walked away.

It was time to go back to his lake for a little while, he had a lot to think about.

*

Augus didn’t go back to the Unseelie Court for the full two days. Once he left, he was in no hurry to return. In the lake, he could shed barriers he needed in the Court. Barriers that stopped him cringing at shadows, flinching at noises, looking down dark corridors and imagining a huge, hulking beast of shadows rushing at him with no escape, no one to turn to, nothing to-

But the mind of a waterhorse wasn’t meant to be overly dammed; thoughts and feelings were meant to flow. It gave him an anchor to swim in his lake, begin harvesting flora to dry or preserve as food, medicine, poison in jars.

After two days he went back at the time he’d been told to return. He was found and beckoned by Gulvi before he’d had a chance to see Gwyn.

‘Took you long enough! Come on then. Time for all of us to start calling Gwyn, ‘Your Majesty’ again and watch him cringe.’

‘How has he been?’ Augus asked.

‘Ah, well, he’s had a few talks with your brother. Though what they’ve been talking about, I don’t know. I’m almost certain Gwyn made a blood-oath to him about _something,_ and-’

Augus stared at her. Gulvi laughed.

‘Life doesn’t stop just because you’re not here, darling. They don’t run everything by you first, you know.’

_Damn it. I should just tie Gwyn up when I leave._

‘They seem a little better now,’ Gulvi said. ‘Whatever they’ve talked about, it’s settled a smidgeon of the enmity. I almost want to set them off against each other again. Have you seen how Gwyn sparks up in anger when Ash is around? Oh, it’s not often someone doesn’t like _Ash._ That’s novel.’

‘That heartsong of yours is a menace to society,’ Augus said, but his heart wasn’t in it.

Gulvi led Augus to the temenos, the holy precinct where matters of sacred Unseelie business occurred. Augus hadn’t altered it much when he’d changed the appearance of the Unseelie Court, because he’d found altering a palace exhausting and this was one of the last places his mind had wrapped around and tried to change.

Gwyn and Ash were already waiting. Gwyn stood by a black marble column, fingers of one hand hovering where a sword hilt might be as he waited near the dais at the end of the long, narrow room. Unlike the throne room, this was not a stately space, nor grandiose; it was small and intimate. It reeked of power. Usually it was lit only by the eerie glow of were-lights, but someone had placed and lit the torches in their brackets, giving the entire temenos a warm feel.

Ash leaned against another column, crown on his head.

Augus swallowed. Gwyn would be expected to announce at least one member of his Inner Court after the ceremony was completed, and Augus still didn’t know what Gwyn had decided. From the furtive look that Gwyn had given him, he didn’t feel too hopeful. He kept his face impassive, knew he looked like it didn’t matter. He also knew that Gwyn could see right through it.

‘What a small Coronation this shall be,’ Gulvi said, breaking the silence. Her voice echoed back and forth on the smooth, glossy marble. She removed her crown and walked up the steps of the dais, placing her crown upon a flat, marble table, the slab of stone striated with seams of gold and silver.

Gulvi turned and beckoned Ash. Augus watched, and Ash winked at Augus as he passed, offered a quirk of his lips which indicated that he was okay with what was happening. Or, if not okay, then at least okay enough to offer reassurance. Augus frowned, stood, arms by his sides. This room reminded him somewhat of the dark, underground cavern where he’d been demoted. The presence of the crowns reminded him that once he’d overthrown a friend, because revenge had mattered more to him. The formal ceremonies of any Court no longer interested him, or felt safe.

‘La! Darling. Get up here,’ Gulvi said, turning to Gwyn.

Gwyn stepped away from the column and walked without hesitation up the steps. He’d managed to find new clothing, but it was as casual as what everyone else – bar Augus – was wearing. Ash was in a plain, unbranded brown t-shirt. He wore pale stone-washed jeans and black sneakers. Gulvi wore a sleeveless shirt, skin-tight black pants, boots of red leather. And Gwyn was back in a creamy linen shirt that laced up at the chest, brushed leather pants, simple soft leather boots that were laced over his ankles and lower calf.

They looked like lower class Unseelie that had snuck into the holy precinct of the Unseelie Court. Not Kings and Queens all of them. Augus shook his head.

Gulvi drew herself up, faced Gwyn, who straightened and swallowed. His hands clenched into fists by his side. His shoulders heaved on a breath.

‘I, Gulvi Dubna Vajat, Unseelie Queen and true daughter of the Dubna, commence this reversal of the Inner Court, acknowledging that Gwyn ap Nudd – son of the An-Fnwy and member of the Inner Court – is the superior and preferred choice for Unseelie King, at this time. I voluntarily cede position of Queen to you, so that I may serve on your Inner Court for the sake of the Kingdom.’

‘Jesus, Gulvi, did you _rehearse_ that?’ Ash hissed.

‘That’s what you’re supposed to say!’ Gulvi retorted.

‘Fuck,’ he drawled. ‘Whatever. Face me then.’

Gwyn’s eyes caught Augus’ apprehensively as he turned. His hands hadn’t unclenched once. Augus felt a flicker of worry.

‘Yeah, okay,’ Ash said. ‘I, Ash Glashtyn, King of the Unseelie and so on, acknowledge that I really can’t be fucked being King anymore and you’ll probably do a better job, so, I guess, I want you to be King, and give up my position of Kingship to you. On the condition that you don’t fuck us over. But then I guess we have that blood-oath for that, huh?’

He turned to Gulvi, who shook her head at him.

‘Now what?’ Ash said.

Gulvi reached out and picked up her crown, placed it on Gwyn’s head. It settled there like it belonged, and Augus took a step closer, another, wanting to see better. He’d never seen Gwyn in a crown before. He had always assumed the crown wouldn’t suit him, but that silvery, fragile thing of leaves and twigs made him look wilder somehow, more himself. Gwyn turned and stared at Augus, expression dark and unfathomable. He didn’t look pleased.

‘Is that it?’ Gulvi said.

‘No,’ Gwyn said, breaking his gaze from Augus’. ‘No, you’ll know when it’s worked. Ash, you need to do it too. There are two of you.’

Ash picked up his crown and turned it in his fingers. Gwyn bowed helpfully to narrow the height difference between them. Ash hesitated, looked for long seconds at Augus, then took a deep breath and settled the crown over Gulvi’s.

As soon as he let go, the room shook with a resounding chime. Gulvi, Ash and Augus startled, but Gwyn obviously knew to expect it, because he took the crowns off and calmly placed them side by side on the slab of marble. The chime echoed repeatedly through the chamber, vibrating through the room, bouncing off stone; a musical, dark tone that made his bones hum.

After two minutes, it finally passed. Augus felt odd. His Inner Court status was slowly flowing away, though it wasn’t disappearing so much as...clinging to him. The Court was in temporary flux, and his status with it.

‘It is done,’ Gwyn said. His voice was clear, strident. Augus would have no way of knowing what Gwyn truly thought about being King again until they were on their own.

Gwyn turned to Gulvi. Her wings flexed, her eyes brightened. She looked lighter, pleased.

‘I, Gwyn ap Nudd, ask you, Gulvi Dubna Vajat, if you would serve on my Inner Court. If you agree, I name you my Queen in Waiting, and you will preside over strategy and espionage, and serve as Chief Judge and executioner.’

Gulvi’s face lit up with a dangerous, wicked smile.

‘Darling, I agree.’

Executioner? Augus was shocked. Gwyn had formally acknowledged an intent – in that moment – to both take prisoners and have someone kill them. He wondered how much of that was Gulvi’s idea. The Unseelie Kingdom would never have been tolerant of a King that didn’t take prisoners.

The room was slowly swirling with more power. Gwyn’s status was rising, light was flowing into the room. It was almost gentle, though it flared every now and then as it pooled on the marble tiles on the floor. It scoured at nothing, harmless.

Gwyn turned to Ash, and Augus’ heart started to beat harder.

He wanted to stay Inner Court. He had to. He bit at his top lip and then let go immediately, trying for an impassive expression once more.

‘I, Gwyn ap Nudd, ask you, Ash Glashtyn, if you would serve on my Inner Court. If you agree, I name you Magistrate and Diplomat.’

‘Sounds good to me,’ Ash said, and then laughed.

_Damn it, I am going to claw those conversations out of the two of them if it kills me. Ash still doesn’t look comfortable. What the hell was that blood oath?_

Gwyn turned to Augus, silence passed. A minute, another, and Augus felt like growling at everyone in the room.

Eventually Gwyn walked down the steps, his face cold.

Augus wondered if this was the moment when he’d be demoted to Court status, and told that...what? Told what? What would Gwyn say to him?

There was a pause, Gwyn’s eyes narrowed, his lips were thin. He looked disapproving. Augus knew that could mean anything. He took a shaky breath, shifted from foot to foot once before realising that he was doing a terrible job at remaining impassive. He’d never missed his old heartsong more acutely.

‘I, Gwyn ap Nudd, ask you, Augus Each Uisge, if you would serve on my Inner Court. If you agree, I name you my personal Advisor. You shall preside over the Common Work, including all matters relating to underfae. You shall also serve as dual overseer of the Wild Hunt, with myself, as well as Magistrate, and primary interrogator.’

‘Yes,’ Augus said immediately. It wasn’t until he’d answered that he’d realised he’d just agreed to _serve_ on a Court. _Again._

But Magistrate? Two Magistrates and a Chief Judge? What sort of justice system was Gwyn setting up? Usually it was the King who passed judgement, and yet...

And _interrogator?_

‘What sort of Court are you making?’ Augus said, eyes widening.

‘A stronger one than I had last time,’ Gwyn said, offering a grim smile. He turned and walked towards the exit of the temenos. ‘We still need a Mage, a Storykeeper, someone to oversee land management. A treasurer; I’ll take that for now. I’ll take War General for large-scale combat and complex battle, as well as land acquisition. If you’ll excuse me, I have to send a messenger off to the Seelie Court and let Albion know that he should have killed me when he had the chance.’

The marble doors closed with a dull thud behind him, and Gulvi and Ash stared at each other. Augus, rattled, allowed a smirk to settle on his features. He felt shaken. Gwyn had been far easier to read when he was the trapped King of the Seelie.

‘Does anyone else feel like we just did something really fucking crazy?’ Ash said.

‘Oh, yes, darling. Isn’t it _exquisite?’_ Gulvi clapped her hands together once. ‘And I’m not the fucking Queen anymore! What a good day this is turning out to be. Also, you got off _light._ Diplomat and Magistrate? There’s no one to judge, and diplomacy is Gwyn’s way of saying that he just wants you to be yourself.’

‘You won’t have to stay here if you don’t want to,’ Augus said. ‘It means you can practically leave whenever you like, except during throne-room meetings.’

‘Yeah, I know,’ Ash said. ‘Gwyn told me what he wanted from me yesterday. He gave me a choice. He said I didn’t even have to be a Magistrate, but that he wanted me to be, because apparently I bring a different perspective because of how I live and stuff.’

‘Mm? And what else have you two been talking about in my absence? Any blood-oaths recently?’

‘Can’t remember,’ Ash lied, grinning.

‘I’ll find out from one of you.’

‘You’ll be too busy,’ Gulvi laughed. ‘Common Work? Underfae? Primary Advisor? Do you know where you’re meant to be right now? You are meant to be glued to his side, and you know it. Go on, you’re the one that follows and takes notes now, darling.’

‘Am I?’ Augus said, pretending innocence, stretching his arms out, somewhat enjoying the look of mischievous excitement on Gulvi’s face. Ash looked unimpressed, but possibly he was mentally cataloguing which human bars he’d go to first.

Augus walked calmly towards the exit. The marble doors closed automatically behind him, and his nostrils flared, searching out Gwyn. Augus frowned, Gwyn’s fear was sharper than normal – even for him. He quickened his steps.

Down three more corridors he found Gwyn bowed double, hyperventilating.

‘Well,’ Augus said. ‘I did wonder.’

Gwyn turned to him, eyes wide, desperation on his face. He was an animal caught in a trap. The whites of his eyes were showing more than usual, his fingers twisted where they clung to the wall. Every breath piled on top of another before he could properly get air.

‘If it helps,’ Augus said, ‘we all bought it. In there. I didn’t notice your fear.’

‘It’s almost the only...damned thing my dra’ocht is...good for,’ Gwyn gasped, laughing. ‘Here.’

Augus’ eyes widened when whatever Gwyn had been doing with his glamour disappeared. The amount of fear Gwyn had been blocking was phenomenal.

‘By the gods,’ Augus whispered, walking towards him.

Gwyn held up a hand.

‘No, it’s...’

Gwyn’s dra’ocht masked his fear again, slowly. But the itch of it was still in Augus’ nose, still piquing his inner predator. Augus realised with some surprise that his teeth had even started to sharpen.

‘I’ve always needed to be able to do that,’ Gwyn said, his voice muted. ‘For the battlefield. For...a lot of things.’

He straightened slowly. Augus’ eyes shifted, catching an odd movement. His clothing was moving. It was almost imperceptible, but he was shivering so much his shirt trembled. Augus swallowed thickly. After all this time, all the time they’d spent together, he’d had no idea that Gwyn could use his dra’ocht to mask his fear.

He was aware that he knew one side of Gwyn very well, but there was a lot about him he didn’t know at all. Gulvi was right, he didn’t know Gwyn as a soldier, King, how he behaved in a Court.

He wondered if Gwyn was up to the responsibility of Kingship. Confronting Albion. Going back to being a War General now that he was injured and couldn’t move a sword properly without collapsing.

‘It’s good,’ Gwyn said, his voice finally starting to even out. ‘It’s good you all bought it.’

Augus wasn’t so sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next and FINAL chapter, 'King:'
> 
> ‘King Albion, if you’re not here to welcome me as Unseelie King, _why_ are you here? Is it to show me your Inner Court? To impress upon me the error of my ways? Or to tell me that by rights, I should have died when you released me, except that you really didn’t plan for every eventuality as you assumed you had? That’s always been your flaw, Albion. You’ve admitted it yourself behind closed doors. That arrogance of yours.’


	46. King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All thanks and acknowledgements are at the end. :) For once, I'll not get between you and the chapter. <3

Gwyn watched Augus as he dozed. He rested his head on one hand and stroked hesitant patterns on Augus’ side with his other, fingers curling over Augus’ bare skin, finding it taut over his bones. For all Augus seemed to constantly find excuses to present Gwyn with food, Augus had also lost weight over the months that had passed. Augus seemed not to notice. When Gwyn pointed it out, Augus had shrugged and said:

‘It’s been worse.’

That left Gwyn thinking of Augus’ childhood; growing up and raising Ash, going hungry to make sure Ash could eat.

A week had passed since the Coronation. Albion was coming in only a few hours. It was an insult that Albion had left it so long, but Gwyn had expected nothing less. Any respect Albion paid to him would be false.

Gwyn didn’t want to sleep or doze, he used his dra’ocht to mask his fear – a habit so automatic he hardly thought about it – and tried to feel more suited for the position of Kingship than he really was.

It had been a week of Unseelie Court families – as well as those who had once been Court – coming to request audience with him. Gulvi and Augus had both insisted he turn them away until the first round of invitations were sent out and the Court itself had altered its appearance.

It didn’t feel right to send anyone away. The Court was empty.

He sent the nobles away.

It was a week of rumours, of Augus leaving for his lake and Gwyn feeling that absence acutely, despite knowing it was for the best and being too busy to see him. A week of tentative truce with Ash now that he’d blood-oathed not to work against the Unseelie Kingdom, or betray it to the Seelie Court – two things Gwyn intended anyway. A week of stealing time to train and the grating, scraping misery of it. A week of armour that didn’t fit, of swords that balanced adequately but weren’t _his_ sword, of constantly going to call for trows and remembering that this Court had no cohesive unit of servants or housekeepers.

_You’re King again, but King of_ what, _exactly?_

Augus sighed as Gwyn splayed his fingers over the base of his ribs on his right. Augus was sensitive there. But his eyelids didn’t flutter, he didn’t waken. Gwyn didn’t know how to reach out and touch him like this when Augus was awake. But he couldn’t help himself now, feeling lukewarm skin under his calloused fingers and staring at Augus hungrily.

Augus had returned two days before. It hadn’t been an easy return. Augus found him working on the accounts on his own, and greeted him by backhanding across the face.

‘You haven’t changed it yet!’ Augus hissed. Augus had a habit of angling his fingers just right, scoring marks with his claws across his cheek. They burned. But there was a wildness in Augus’ eyes, a fear that reminded him too much of wild animals lashing out when they were caught in traps.

It took a moment for Gwyn to realise what he was talking about. He grimaced.

‘I’m researching older designs, old illustrations. I’ll need more time, Augus. I’m still learning this place, and I wish for it to be something that I am not – _inviting_. It has to have elements of the older Courts. The night-gardens of Thugine, the guest-rooms of the Raven Prince, known for his generosity. Can you try and bear with it longer? You can leave whenever you wish. I know it grates on you.’

Augus had opened his mouth to say that it didn’t, Gwyn could tell. But Gwyn stared at him levelly, wearing reddening marks on his cheek, lips thin. Augus responded to difficult situations with violence, and Gwyn’s chest ached at the thought of Augus returning and expecting a different environment, only to find everything the same. Augus was not okay in the Unseelie Court, for many reasons. Gwyn stole moments whenever he could to research old templates, as well as the blueprints of other Unseelie noble family houses that were favoured for their aesthetic.

‘Longer. How much longer?’ Augus said, his voice quiet, uncertain. It didn’t suit him.

Gwyn’s expression must have changed then, perhaps it showed some hint of empathy, because Augus’ face twisted in disgust and his fingers tensed into claws. Gwyn put down his papers, looked up at the ceiling.

‘I made the mistake of changing the Seelie Court immediately, and I was questioned on it almost every day that I was King and present in the Court. It will be another few weeks, at least. I’m sorry, Augus. Kings and Queens used to take _months._ ’

Augus flickered the briefest glance at him, and his eyes were hooded, haunted.

Gwyn laughed bitterly under his breath.

‘Since I seem to be doing so much better here, and you seemed to do so much better in the Seelie Court, perhaps we should just overtake both.’

‘With all that power and wealth that we have,’ Augus said, joining in, rolling his eyes.

‘Yes. With that military at my beck and call and all the servants and-’ Gwyn growled under his breath. ‘And no tailors or cooks or armourers or smiths or-’

‘Oh, I was rather enjoying that game,’ Augus said, a half-smile gracing his face. It was an expression that was softer than his smirk, though not quite his real, shy smile that he offered only rarely; hardly at all since they’d been in the Unseelie Court.

They didn’t talk for a long moment, but the silence was comfortable. After a while, Augus dragged his fingers along the top of a chair, the movement unintentionally sensual. A lot of things Augus did were like that. Gwyn wondered if he was aware of it.

‘Albion arrives in two days,’ Augus said.

‘Advise me,’ Gwyn said. He had his fear masked, but he knew Augus could tell it was there. Gwyn had made a mistake in showing him how scared he truly was after the Coronation. The whole experience had once more been harrowing, even without a crowd to witness it this time. He’d gone and hyperventilated after becoming Seelie King too. He remembered teleporting to a forest and throwing up by a tree, so violently that he’d ended up throwing up blood.

‘Wear armour. A sword. You are a martial King.’

Gwyn winced, shook his head.

‘We will all be aware in the moment he sees me in poorly fitting armour, that the Unseelie Court both has no wealth, and that I am missing my _actual_ armour.’

‘Make it work,’ Augus said, his voice hardening. ‘You’re King. You don’t need my advice in this. You know Albion, you know what he will respond to. You don’t want to do any of it because you’ll be formally drawing a line in the sand between yourself and the Seelie Court. But he’s coming in two days. You’ll have to do something.’

Gwyn picked up the accounts again and stared at them.

‘You’re dismissed,’ Gwyn said, voice cold.

Augus laughed. In a flash of unexpected athleticism, he leaped onto the table, a stack of papers falling off. He knocked the accounts out of Gwyn’s hand and wrapped vicious fingers around his throat.

Gwyn’s blood ran cold. His muscles locked up. He remembered a cruel, efficient hand, cold blue eyes, his power leaving him, the eyes of a seething mass upon him and cruelty thick in the air and he-

‘Not the throat, not the throat, not the throat, not the-’

Gwyn leaned over the armrest of his wooden chair as Augus let go, shuddering for breath, covering his own throat protectively. Augus dragged him back up with a hand in his hair.

‘That too?’ Augus said, his voice a soft counterpoint to the pain he was inflicting. ‘Is there anything that _didn’t_ damage you when you had your Kingship taken away? Don’t answer that. If you say ‘you’re dismissed’ ever again when we’re not in _public,_ I will ruin you. Disrespect me at your own peril, Gwyn. You’re not safe just because you have this status again. You were _never_ safe with me.’

Augus twisted his hand hard and Gwyn felt several strands of hair come loose.

Unbidden, something in him unwound, he sagged in the chair staring up at Augus. Augus noticed, his grip tightened. But there was no glint or fire in Augus’ eyes and he let go abruptly, still balanced on the table.

‘Gwyn, you’re going to have to talk to me about it. Shall I _make_ you?’

Gwyn shook his head, looked away.

‘I can’t,’ Gwyn said. ‘I can’t.’

‘And that master of your humiliation. The one who has made it so that I can’t touch your throat, he will be here in two days.’

Gwyn ran a hand over his face. Augus sighed.

‘My advice? Kill him.’

Gwyn laughed, but when he looked up, Augus’ expression had shuttered. He realised Augus was serious.

‘Augus...’

‘I would,’ Augus said. ‘For what he did to you.’

But after that, conversation turned to other lighter matters, and eventually Augus had left. Gwyn was shocked at how visceral his reaction had been to having a hand on his throat. He’d had no idea it was an issue. Then again, not many people went around wrapping fingers around his neck.

And, he realised, as he now spread his fingers over Augus’ vulnerable belly, Augus was right. He wanted to hide from all of it.

_No more hiding. Albion comes today. You know what you have to do._

Gwyn nursed an idea. A daring idea. The Court was already broken, and it seemed like the best time to experiment with ideas that were surely madness was when everyone else expectedthem. Rumours flew fast and thick that Gwyn was some kind of mad genius. The Unseelie fae were flattering – if desperate – in their estimations of him. And the proportion that worried Gwyn had been ‘turned’ by the Seelie were in the minority.

_They have to be. They are desperate enough to cling to any hope at this time._

But he could capitalise on that. He would use it. He knew how to do that much.

Augus hummed sleepily under his breath, and Gwyn shifted his hand so that the backs of his fingers could trail a line over his skin. He skirted around the edges of the Soulbond. It was surprisingly easy to miss, despite it taking up a portion of his chest. It was as though the magic of it convinced his eyes to skate away, and he had to really concentrate now to examine it. The skin felt no different, but he could feel a strange magic crackling in his fingertips like static, when he passed close to the mark.

His shoulder ached, but it was – at least now – easy to ignore. Augus’ face was in repose. Freckles stood out on his cheek and shoulders, darker from exposure to sunlight. His thick, long lashes were a smudge of black. His lips were slightly downturned, as though he were in mourning, or faintly disturbed. Gwyn resisted the urge to kiss them.

Gwyn sensed the presence of one of the common fae court-keepers, looked towards the door a few seconds before he heard the quiet knock.

‘Come in,’ he called, eyes moving down to Augus, hoping he wouldn’t stir.

The common fae entered. She was named Ada, the one who seemed less shy than the others. Her eyes drifted to Augus and widened, as though surprised to see him as anything other than they evil caricature they had all built him up to be in their minds.

‘What is it?’ Gwyn said.

‘Your Majesty, there is a band of trows here to see you, and we weren’t sure we should turn them away. They have claimed you expected them? Should I send them away?’

‘No!’ Gwyn said, keeping his voice quiet. He eased off the bed, but Augus stirred at that, his hand reached out.

‘Gwyn?’ he murmured. There was something painfully vulnerable about him half-awake. Gwyn felt a murderous impulse flash through him that the court-keeper had seen it. He knew they gossiped amongst each other, he had no patience for it.

Gwyn trailed his fingers over the palm of Augus’ hand.

‘It’s okay. Court business. I’ll return.’

‘Mm,’ Augus sighed. But his eyelids fluttered open. As soon as he saw Ada, he scowled. ‘What Court business?’

‘The trows,’ Gwyn said, pulling on pants, buttoning a creased shirt onto his body. Augus pursed his lips, then rose in a fluid movement, unashamed of his nudity, staring at Ada with a cold boldness.

‘I’m coming too,’ Augus said.

‘Where are they waiting?’ Gwyn said to Ada.

‘The Tavaline Portaal.’

The main entrance, not even the Gwylwyr Du, which meant that – Gwyn’s heart leapt at the thought – perhaps it was the Seelie trows. He hesitated, thoughts racing through his mind. Albion knew he favoured the trows. Could he have captured some? Was this a trick? Albion was already due later that day. Were they spies, perhaps?

‘No one else was with them?’ Gwyn asked, his voice hardening.

‘No one. There’s only five there, Your Majesty.’

After that, Gwyn waved his hand in dismissal and Ada exited. It wouldn’t matter if they were spies, Gwyn wasn’t planning on giving away any secrets. He waited for Augus to dress, comb his fingers through his hair. Augus was quiet, smoothing his shirt, making sure his rapier was buckled firmly to his side. Gwyn had always assumed that Augus spent time fussing over his appearance, but Augus didn’t take long at all.

Gwyn held out his hand and Augus placed his palm in it. They teleported into light.

*

Three of the trows were Seelie, two were not. Gwyn went to his knees immediately, knowing how they hated other species of fae lording their height over them. Augus did the same a minute later, managing the act with far more grace.

Two of the Seelie trows – their dark, luminous eyes alit with excitement in the gloomy entrance of the Tavaline – were the ones Augus had interacted with the most. They reached out to pet Augus’ hands where they rested on his knees. Augus looked down, raising his eyebrows at them with a mix of amusement and –Gwyn was shocked to see it – _affection._

‘Come within, it’s safer,’ Gwyn said.

The head Seelie trow, the one Gwyn had spoken to most, shook his head.

_*No, this will be quick,*_ he signed.

The Unseelie trows stepped forwards. They wore uglier clothing than the Seelie, which was saying something, as their Seelie counterparts had never placed much stock in appearance. Otherwise, they appeared the same. They had the same grey skin and wrinkled countenances, the same black eyes and hooked noses, the same fragile, long, clever fingers. One of the Unseelie trows was gazing at the silver accents on Augus’ rapier.

Gwyn raised his hands to sign, but the head Seelie trow shook his head.

_*We have talked with our cousins across the river,*_ the trow signed in the common sign language of the fae. Gwyn smiled to hear the old, peaceful reference. ‘Cousins across the river’ was how fae always used to refer to their Seelie or Unseelie connections. * _We have told them of your kindnesses. They wish to work for you. They are like us. But they must eat meat, and they must leave for the human world to feed upon the theft of others.*_

Gwyn turned to the Unseelie trows. He wasn’t certain this would work, yet he felt touched imagining the Seelie trows contacting their Unseelie brethren to see if they could continue working for Gwyn. There would be no harm in asking for more details, at least.

‘How many of you have agreed to this?’

One of the Unseelie trows, a strangely nervous set to his face, signed in return:

_*Our cousins gave us an advance payment in silver. Three hundred have agreed. However, we are no more trained than our cousins when you hired them.*_

Gwyn nodded slowly. That didn’t bother him. Trows were naturally inclined to tidying, to looking after those in their charge. He knew it was the same for the Unseelie trows, except that they fed on and inspired kleptomania in the human world.

Three hundred was a good number for a growing Court. Especially as Gwyn wanted the Court to be well-serviced and as grand as it had once been.

‘I am honoured, humbled by this. I wish to accept. Unfortunately, I exhausted my silver stocks making sure your cousins received a proper severance,’ Gwyn said, and the Seelie trows nodded. The two by Augus were now simply sitting and watching him, adoration in their eyes. It made something warm spark in Gwyn’s chest. If he could, he’d hire the Seelie trows back. But it wasn’t permitted, and everyone knew it.

The head Seelie trow interrupted what the other Unseelie trow had been about to say with quick, flicking movements of his fingers. Gwyn still didn’t understand their native language, though he’d tried, picked up the odd word here and there before the speedy evolution of their sign language made it redundant. The head Seelie trow turned back to him, face sober.

_*It is not in our nature to give silver, we guard it jealously. But you gave us more than we needed, and we owed you a debt anyway, Gwyn of the Stars. To pay back that debt, we have paid them each in silver, securing their service to you for five years. After that, you will pay them wages comparable to ours.*_

‘What else do I need to know?’ Gwyn said, flushed with an uncomfortable gratitude.

One of the Unseelie trows, wearing a shawl that was once indigo, responded.

_*We steal silver.*_

‘Anything else?’

_*We tidy. We cook. We fetch items and we find. We do not care for dusting.*_

Gwyn laughed quietly.

‘If you’ll permit it, I can hire others to take care of that. I understand you’ll have to leave to feed. And of course you’ll need time for your henks and other business, as the Seelie trows did. I’m sure they’ve explained what everything was like for them while in my employ? Is there anything else I should know?’

_*No,*_ the Unseelie trow signed, and then looked over at the Seelie trow for support. They nodded at each other. He lifted his hands in a more formalised manner. * _Gwyn of the Stars, I swear on behalf of those of us that will serve you and the Unseelie Court, that we will not betray your Court to our Seelie cousins, other Seelie, other Unseelie, or steal anything other than silver. We will serve_ you, _and anyone you ask us to, and not just the Court itself as per your contract with our cousins. We swear by our sturdy caves and the grounds that sing to us. May they fail should we fail you.*_

‘Rather impressive,’ Augus whispered, and Gwyn looked over him, eyes wide. He didn’t know Augus could understand the common sign language.

‘I accept your fealty,’ Gwyn said, and the Unseelie trow nodded briskly.

_*Show us this Court, and allow us into the outer circles so that we may show you that we are worthy of your trust.*_

Gwyn signed a quick agreement. In this, he wasn’t concerned about betrayal. Service-oriented fae were not physiologically able to betray their oaths, regardless of how they were made. Not only that, but after so long in the Seelie Court, he had faith in the head Seelie trow’s ability to assess someone’s character.

‘You have done me a great service,’ Gwyn said to the head Seelie trow. The trow’s face crinkled in something like amusement.

_*Perhaps. But you have done us the greater. We have lost favour with the Seelie, but it was favour we never truly had. Those of us who wanted to keep working are finding paid employ amongst Unseelie houses. We like to work. We have been well-served by your faith. May you be well-served by ours.*_

‘I hope to see you again,’ Gwyn said, and signed a clumsy attempt at a farewell in what he hoped was the Seelie sign-dialect of the trows. The head trow’s eyes widened in surprise, and then his shoulders shook in a silent laugh.

_*We stopped using that sign months ago. But I appreciate the attempt, Gwyn of the Stars. Farewell to you also.*_

The Seelie trow turned to the two by Augus, but they shook their heads rapidly. After that there was a debate that seemed quickly resolved, and the head trow placed a finger to his nose and disappeared in a puff of pale grey dirt.

‘I’m staying here with these two for a while longer,’ Augus said. Gwyn paused, looked at the Seelie trows and how happy they seemed and nodded an agreement to Augus.

He turned to the Unseelie trows feeling disbelief warring alongside his gratitude. He’d missed the trows. Even if the Unseelie trows turned out to be half as helpful as their Seelie cousins, it would still be a type of service he desired. They were discreet, secretive creatures, and they did not like to gossip. He rather thought that the way the Seelie and Unseelie trows treated each other – as cousins across the river – was an attitude the fae world had lost sight of.

As he teleported them away, he knew his later meeting with Albion was likely not going to go as smoothly.

They were _not_ cousins across the river.

*

Gwyn wore a thinner gambeson under the plate armour. A longsword was sheathed at his side. A crown rested atop his head, far heavier than it had any right to be. The armour was black, it fit poorly, and there wasn’t enough time for the trows to outsource a new suit of the stuff. His heart pounded so hard in his chest he was surprised he couldn’t hear it thudding dully against the metal of the breastplate. His shoulder throbbed. Augus had dug his fingers into it only an hour before, but the pressure point therapy never brought much time. That it brought any relief at all was a miracle.

Gulvi stood nearby in her leathers, the closest she got to armour. Her knives were newly polished, her claws sharpened, and her dark brown leather pants were laced up close against her skin, her chest protected with a closely fitting leather breastplate. It offered hardly any protection for ground skirmishes, but it was suited for aerial combat. Her white-blond hair was slicked back in a ponytail, plaited down in a queue. She wasready for a fight.

Augus wore what he often did these days. A rapier at his side, more a Courtier than a warrior, but dangerous all the same. His dra’ocht was active, adding to his energy of charming, dangerous malevolence. Ash, beside him, still wore human clothing, would have been the odd one out were it not for the dark expression on his face.

Gwyn wondered if their conversation the other day had anything to do with that.

Ash had cornered him again while Augus was away, well after the blood-oath:

‘Gulvi says that Albion might try and take down the Unseelie Court at some point.’

‘He might,’ Gwyn acknowledged. It was _slightly_ easier to talk to Ash now that he wasn’t actively, subtly bullying him at almost every turn. ‘He can. He has the martial strength. The old magic about this place will keep him and other Seelie out, but he can make sure we are effectively cut off from our wealth and trade sources, pick off the most powerful families in the Kingdom.’

‘Jesus,’ Ash said, shaking his head. ‘You can’t let that happen.’

‘I don’t plan to,’ Gwyn said. ‘But if he puts his mind to it, there isn’t a great deal we can do. We are – as the saying goes – over a barrel in this.’

‘Funny, hearing that from you, ‘over a barrel,’’ Ash said, though he didn’t laugh. His eyes narrowed. ‘Because isn’t that how Augus has you? Like...over a barrel? Do you call him Master? Sir? Anything like that?’

Gwyn froze, staring at him. He felt a flush creeping up his cheeks. Had Augus _said_ something? He couldn’t think of anything worse. He needed to make sure he explained to Augus that-

‘It’s true,’ Ash said, surprised and breathless. ‘Oh man, it’s _true._ You’re his sub? Fucking hell. I mean- Hey, are you blushing? Oh my god, you _are_. Are you _embarrassed?’_

Gwyn cleared his throat, could feel his expression matching the rage that blossomed blood-red and hot in his body. Light itched along his veins. He wasn’t in the mood for this.

‘Hey, don’t be embarrassed,’ Ash said. ‘It’s not like I’m gonna think any less of you for it. It’d be an insult to my brother, right?’

‘And you haven’t insulted him enough by not trusting his judgement in me?’

‘That’s different, and you know it. You want to see him in a situation like he was in before? If you care for him, you’d know where I was coming from. I dunno. We have a sort of truce now, don’t we?’

Ash had looked down, ruffled a hand through his hair.

‘I see the way he looks at you when you’re not looking at him. It’s not like blind...adoration or anything. I can see it’s not the same now as it was then. But Gwyn, you fucked me over. I need time to understand who you are. And, also...Augus is private, you’re private. All this time and I know hardly anything about you. And if Augus is beneath that wall, if he knows you, then whatever he sees beneath your dick persona is worth something. A _little_ trust maybe. Who knows? I’m still waiting for you to fuck up.’

‘So am I,’ Gwyn said, tired. Ash looked confused, Gwyn shrugged a shoulder. ‘I’m as surprised to be receiving Augus’ favour as you are that he’s giving it to me.’

‘What are you gonna do about Albion? He ripped you down in front of the Seelie. You were in jail because of him. He was basically your warden, right? Did you ever expect it from him?’

Ash hopped up to sit on the desk, swinging his legs, curious. But Gwyn now knew better. Ash was a predator. He might be compassionate, he might be capable of empathy, but beneath that he was the Glashtyn, who was – at least in past incarnations – far more blood-thirsty and vicious than the more refined Each Uisge. There was a wiliness in Ash’s eyes that was turned into a charming wit by his dra’ocht.

‘I expected him to defend the Seelie Court to the best of his ability, and that’s what he did. Whether I agree with his methods is something else entirely. As for what I’m going to do; I’m going to _talk_ to him. I have some things I want to say. I’m going to head off any conflict, if I can.’

Ash had offered something of a sceptical smile to Gwyn at the time, but now he waited at the entrance of the Gwylwyr Du, looking out into a forest clearing by Augus’ side. Gwyn was surprised to see the exact moment that Ash lit up his dra’ocht; appearing warm and charming. He even turned to Gwyn and winked. Augus looked at Gwyn, reserved.

Gwyn stood straighter, took a deep breath, found the old core energies inside of himself. There was justice alongside wildness, and there, waiting with avaricious fingers, an old jarring melody of triumph. He gathered them to himself and let his natural dra’ocht flood out. The one that made people take notice of him on a battlefield, that had soldiers paying attention and Kings listening to his strategies.

He absently touched the hilt of his sword, turned to the others.

‘So,’ Ash said, before he could say anything. ‘We’re broke. Have no military. And like, we’ve all failed at being King or Queen at some point. We ready for this to be the last Unseelie Court in existence?’

‘No,’ Gwyn said. ‘This will _not_ be the last Unseelie Court. Ash and Augus, remain silent, no matter _what_ they say to you. Gulvi, if you notice anything untoward as they approach, throw up one of those soundproofing breezes. They’re convenient.’

‘Silent?’ Ash said, looking put out.

Gwyn stared him down until Ash’s eyebrows rose, and he nodded in reluctant agreement.

Augus said nothing at all. He watched Gwyn with a strange light in his eyes.

It was odd, Gwyn thought, that he didn’t feel as sick about this meeting now as he had a week ago or even two days ago. Albion would come, he would be arrogant and he would be condescending. Gwyn wanted his respect, his approval; but he wasn’t likely to get the latter now that they knew he was Unseelie. But he could make an attempt to win back his respect.

It helped that Gwyn knew the situation of the Unseelie Court was already untenable. He wasn’t some cuckoo in the Oak King’s old Court, watching it dwindle from its glory days of leisure and warmth into the martial Court that Gwyn had created. The Unseelie Court was already likely to fail and anyone could see that. If he couldn’t save it, if he failed, would anyone truly be surprised? He was struck with the odd notion that, at this point, he could only attempt to improve the mess that was before him. Far easier, then, to come into a broken, shattered Court that no one else wanted to deal with, than to take over something that was already – by the standards of many fae – a perfectly administered Court.

Gwyn walked forwards until he was officially clear of the protection of the Unseelie Court, past the barrier of the Gwylwyr Du. Ash, Gulvi and Augus followed. Gulvi walked flush with Gwyn’s left-hand side, the customary place for the Queen in Waiting.

As though responding to a signal, Albion and his Inner Court shimmered into existence on a fine mist of diamond dust – tiny particles of frost that caught the mid-afternoon light. The sun was gloomier, so close to the Unseelie Court, but it shone all the same. The forest surrounding the clearing was dark green, verdant, though the shadows seemed darker here than at the Seelie Court.

Albion had arrived with what looked like the full entourage of his Inner Court. Gwyn recognised the Queen of the Selkies immediately. To have Oura on an Inner Court was a coup. She was an astute strategist, and a grounded, thoughtful woman. She visited the Seelie Court only rarely, but he had passed some pleasant conversations with her. There was Alysia mer Malakhy – he suppressed a shudder. Last he saw her, he was underfae and starving to death.

He was surprised that the person walking flush with Albion – the one who must be his King in Waiting – was not a sea fae at all, but a slender land-based fae of rakish appearance, wearing the chequered blue and white garb of a Master Mage. A Warlord perhaps? His black hair was streaked heavily with white, and despite his somewhat youthful appearance – he looked to be in his early thirties – there was a sense of the ancient and familiar about him, the same feeling he got when around the Nain Rouge or the King of the Forest.

Ash hissed behind them. Immediately a breeze sprang up, plucking sound away before Albion’s Court could hear them.

Gulvi leaned towards Gwyn.

‘Is that Old Pete?’ she said, under her breath.

For the final member of Albion’s Inner Court was - Gwyn noted with dismay – the famed Storykeeper only known as Old Pete. He was one of the rare fae who had chosen to age past the aura of youthfulness. He was grizzled, wrinkled, even stooped. His hair was a salt and pepper shagginess that matched his messy beard. He was Classless, and now Inner Court, and much loved amongst the fae.

_Albion has found his Ash Glashtyn. Except that Old Pete is a cunning bastard. Damn it all._

‘How did Albion get him on his Court?’ Gulvi whispered.

Gwyn didn’t respond. Albion’s was a stronger Court than he could have imagined. He’d hoped that Albion would make the mistake of bolstering his Inner Court primarily with saltwater fae, thus deepening the rift between his personal Court and the rest of the Seelie land-fae. But to have a Mage that was clearly not from the sea, and Old Pete who was beloved amongst the land-fae...

Gwyn stepped forwards to meet them, calmly meeting the eyes of all as Gulvi dropped the breeze with a flick of her fingers. Old Pete’s eyes twinkled in amusement. The Mage looked – if anything – bored. Alysia had a battle-ready excitement in her eyes that Gwyn recognised and appreciated. Oura, as was typical for her, appeared impassive.

Albion walked towards Gwyn, away from his Inner Court, as Gwyn had. He didn’t wear armour, only a suit. He looked over Gwyn’s poorly fitting armour with a disparaging sweep and a twitch to his lips that was almost a smirk. Gwyn was glad that he managed to remain cold, unfathomable throughout.

Albion met his gaze and offered a stiff smile.

‘I, Albion, King of the Atlantic and the Seelie Kingdom, cannot truly say that I welcome you, Gwyn ap Nudd, as King of the Unseelie.’

‘And Seelie always speak the truth, do they?’ Gwyn said, smiling. ‘I thought that was a myth only the humans believed.’

Albion’s shoulders tilted back. His dark blue eyes sparked with an offended, angry glare. The sharpness of him was exacerbated by his moustache, his beard. Gwyn felt an older confidence stir within in blood. The one that found him when he was General, when he’d been winning almost all of his battles and he was no longer living with his family.

His smile didn’t waver, and he decided that he was up for this particular game.

‘It’s a pleasure to see you, now that everything has worked out as planned.’

_There, Albion, believe that I wanted to inherit this ridiculous, broken Court. See it as a plan. And in five seconds, you will think to offend me by pointing out just how broken it-_

‘ _Has_ it worked out?’ Albion looked behind him to his Inner Court, beyond to the Gwylwyr Du. ‘You seem understaffed, underqualified, and your Court is somewhat...underwhelming.’

_Why is this always so easy?_

Why, indeed. Gwyn couldn’t understand many nuances of communication with others, but this was something he knew how to do. Albion could be playing his own verbal trap, but Gwyn had a trump card. It itched against his skin, swirled bright in his torso. His hands remained still by his side, though they ached to twitch.

‘Your poor appearance dishonours the Seelie Court,’ Albion snapped. ‘You could have at least found armour that fit.’

Anger pooled deep in Gwyn’s gut.

‘I have armour that fits me, Albion. You are wrongfully holding it within the Seelie Court. Odd, that you are bringing up your own theft.’

There, a flash of anger in Albion’s eyes at being called a thief, something many Seelie fae couldn’t stand. It threatened their honour.

‘Shall we talk about _theft?’_ Albion said, voice cold. ‘I know that you are planning on financing this Court with funds that you have won from Seelie triumphs. By rights, all of your winnings are ours.’

Gwyn’s smile broadened.

‘And if I had a shred of honour in my _Unseelie_ blood, perhaps I’d care.’

Behind Albion, Oura’s eyes met Gwyn’s, interest in them for the first time. The Mage looked at his nails, and then brushed something off his coat. Old Pete looked curious, but then he was a storyteller. Perhaps he wanted to write everything down and weave a tale of how the two Kings met by the Gwylwyr Du.

‘King Albion, if you’re not here to welcome me as Unseelie King, _why_ are you here? Is it to show me your Inner Court? To impress upon me the error of my ways? Or to tell me that by rights, I should have died when you released me, except that you really didn’t plan for every eventuality as you assumed you had? That’s always been your flaw, Albion. You’ve admitted it yourself behind closed doors. That arrogance of yours.’

Maybe Albion would believe it, maybe he wouldn’t, but Gwyn was going to sell the reputation that he, Gulvi and Augus had been constructing.

Gwyn had been frightened before this meeting that he’d feel the urge to surrender to Albion, to the Seelie Court. That he would become overwhelmed by a sense of wrongness and realise that the right thing to do was to go back for sentencing and execution. But he’d misinterpreted his core of surrender.

He’d given a part of himself to the Unseelie Court. He’d done it even before he accepted Kingship. His core energy was tangled up in surrendered threads, a tapestry woven with the Court itself, the warmth of the zahakhar, even the possibility that he could do something good before – fatalistically – he expected it to fail.

‘I am here to pass on your mother’s regards,’ Albion said, his voice quiet, wreathed with tension.

Gwyn swallowed and Albion didn’t miss it.

‘I am here to tell you that the Seelie fae no longer have any patience for the mistakes the Unseelie Court has made over the years, and that it is time we stepped in to guide the Unseelie back to its rightful path.’

‘Indeed,’ Gwyn said, voice flat.

‘I am here to inform you that if the Unseelie Court does not cooperate, we will have no choice but to exert our force correctively until you see wisdom. We truthfully expect it to come to this, since the Seelie know that you have already failed one Kingdom. It is only a matter of time before you fail another.’

Gwyn’s light coiled in spirals through his body. Up and then down, pushing at his lungs, scouring at his fingertips. Gwyn wondered how long he had, truly, before Albion started pinching off the remaining small, private Unseelie militaries. Had they already started? Would he get a grace period as Albion consolidated his Court? Fae military strategies were often slow-paced. Fae lived a long time, they could take years to work out a plan of attack if they wanted to. Even centuries. Albion wasn’t known to rush.

_Probably a year or two, perhaps. Ten years if I’m lucky. Still not enough time to build a solid military given that in the same time, Albion will be expanding his own._

‘I did not fail the Seelie Kingdom,’ Gwyn said.

‘You lied to all of us. You made a mockery of Seelie honour and duty, turned it into a game for your amusement.’

Gwyn’s teeth ground together, his hands clenched into fists. This again. They all seemed to forget that he’d not _asked_ to be King. _Ever._

He was tired of this.

‘Excuse me? I did what was asked of me. I defeated those who needed to be defeated. One of those an evil so great that the Oak King retired rather than confront it on his own. If you think you can come here, to my Court, and make your veiled threats, I want you to remember one thing: I am the most successful War General in the history of the Seelie Court. I was trained by Lludd Llaw Eraint and the tutors he cherry-picked, some of the best in the world. I have served under _your_ tutelage, and I know your patterns of military combat. I have a significant portion of the military writings of the Seelie memorised, and can recite them word for word, not to mention countless maps, not including the ones I have made myself, that the Seelie Court still uses.

‘Albion, it would do you well to remember that I did _all_ of that without the benefit of my actual power. Would you like to see it? I think a demonstration might be in order.’

Gwyn had practiced this only twice. Practiced it, felt sick while doing it, hid what he was doing from the others.

He swallowed down nausea and spread both of his hands so that they faced palm outwards, sideways, away from Albion and his Inner Court, away from the Inner Court standing behind him.

The light needed the barest of invitations before it leapt like a bounding animal towards his fingertips.

The two arcs blasted unevenly out of his hands in huge semi circles, flying first up towards the sky, then shooting down to the ground, scouring black jagged rifts into the grassed clearing. It became hard to see, everything became pale, then glowed, and the light begged for more. Begged to _take_ from the people that stood around him. It grated and wore, tore at his will.

Gwyn clamped down upon the light and its hunger, broke out into a sweat. He shook faintly as he severed it, clenching his sore, split palms into fists to cut the light off. He bled onto his fingers even as he skin immediately sought to repair the damage done by his light.

Albion’s eyes were almost comically wide as he stared at the damage Gwyn had inflicted on the landscape. The Mage looked interested for the first time, watching Gwyn. Alysia looked frightened. Oura looked...impressed, he thought. Old Pete was writing something down on a scroll.

_There’s going to be a story about this._

The meadow itself was ruined. A swathe of blackened destruction surrounded them. The land wouldn’t recover for thousands of years. Everyone who visited this entrance would see what Gwyn’s light was capable of, long after the Unseelie Court was likely destroyed.

_No hiding from it now._

‘I’m still getting the hang of it,’ Gwyn said flippantly. Albion’s gaze snapped back to his. ‘Best not test me. I feed on death, after all. You weren’t aware? You didn’t wonder why I needed to kill so many fae, so often? I have an _appetite_ for it, let me tell you. Now, where was I?

‘I saved your Court. And your people. And I also have _this._ I will _not_ see our Courts go to war if I can help it. I will not allow the Seelie to force what they believe to be righteousness down the throats of those Unseelie citizens that have already been abused by a darkness that never belonged to them in the first place. I have always maintained that the alignments can live in harmony, and I maintain it still.’

Gwyn’s hands unclenched. He rested his palm on the hilt of the longsword at his side. Bloodlust and hunger streaked through him. Unleashing his light like that, without feeding, left him dazed. He needed to leave. His shoulder ached. He needed to do _something._ Saliva was flooding his mouth, heat coursed through him. He had to concentrate.

‘If, however, you still wish to test me; by all means, go ahead. Now, if you are not here to welcome me to the Kingdom – as is your _duty –_ then you are not welcome. Good afternoon.’

Gwyn turned around, walked towards Augus and Ash, Gulvi falling into step beside him. A breeze sprung up immediately to cloak their voices, but no one spoke.

In the twenty steps they needed to return to the protection of the Gwylwyr Du, Gwyn tensed for an attack. _Something._ But nothing came. It would have been a declaration of open warfare, and to not receive one as they walked within those towering trees left relief washing through Gwyn, a cooling balm. Albion was biding his time, amassing his power, forging new diplomatic ties. Unlike humans, who could spring into war within a moment, the fae always preferred a slower approach to combat. Albion in particular. He built his forces like a tidal wave, moved inexorably and heavily towards his target; not quickly.

Which meant that everyone would see the war coming, before it came. Still, it bought them time.

‘Dude!’ Ash exclaimed, once they’d turned around and noticed that Albion and his Inner Court had teleported away. ‘Dude, that was _sick!_ Holy fuck, I felt like I was in an action movie. Did you know that you-’

_‘Ash_ ,’ Gulvi said quickly, cutting him off. Augus stared at Gwyn, a hungry expression in his face. It was so dark and promising that Gwyn’s bloodlust changed focus. Gwyn stared back until Gulvi touched his armour. He turned and glared at her. Gulvi beamed at him. ‘Nice light show.’

‘Thank you,’ Gwyn said, stiffly.

‘Gwyn,’ Augus said, his voice dangerous, ‘I wish to debrief with you. May we go somewhere private?’

Gwyn wanted to place his bloody palms on Augus’ sides, wanted to dig nails into his skin, wanted the stretch and pained noises and he very much wanted to go somewhere private.

He could barely think about what had just happened. He knew it would be difficult to manage his light once unleashed. Clarity and thought faded beneath his growing, unsated appetite.

‘You will excuse me,’ Gwyn said to Ash and Gulvi. He bowed. He reached out with a hand and grasped Augus by the upper arm, meeting his feral gaze. He knew where to teleport within the Unseelie Court now, and took them straight to their bedroom.

He snarled at Augus immediately, keeping his grip on Augus’ arm. He dug his fingers in until Augus winced.

‘You want to take me?’ Augus said, a light in his eyes. Gwyn nodded. ‘Then take your armour off, you beast.’

Gwyn looked down at himself, started tearing at the pauldrons, the metal plates. The breastplate fell with a heavy _thunk!_ He shed the armour quicker than he could remember doing for some time, the gambeson coming off after it until all he wore was a thin linen undershirt. It made the pain in his shoulder flare, but that only added to his hunger. At the last minute, he remembered he was wearing the crown and took it off, left it on the drawer. It felt lighter in his hands than it did on his head.

‘Perfect,’ Augus breathed.

Gwyn was about to reach out and grab Augus when two thumbs dug hard into spots underneath his ribs and pain exploded behind his eyes. He choked, blinked to clear his vision, and Augus lifted his hands and dug into two more points, causing a fresh wave of pain to wash over him.

Gwyn’s knees buckled. He struggled clumsily when hands landed in his hair and pushed him towards the bed. He half-fell upon it, dragging a hoarse breath into his lungs.

‘You were spectacular,’ Augus breathed, the sound of pants being undone behind him. But no, Gwyn wanted- Gwyn’s light wanted-

Gwyn twisted around, and Augus pushed a knuckle into the pressure point at the base of his neck, paralysing him. Gwyn cried out and Augus chuckled. He pressed harder and Gwyn lost some of his finer motor control.

Gwyn growled, this wasn’t going how it was supposed to go. He was _King._ This-

Material shifted above his back and then Augus let go of his neck quickly. Even as Gwyn started to push himself upwards, Augus had slick fingers between the cleft of his ass. Gwyn bucked beneath him, the movement aborted when a palm pressed down into his lower back.

‘Let go,’ Gwyn snarled, voice hard and brittle. His light leapt like young bucks inside of him. He had to keep it under control. He had to focus. He had to-

The breath was forced from his lungs when Augus pushed the tip of his finger into his ass.

‘You don’t know what it means to me,’ Augus said, sliding the finger home. Gwyn squeezed his eyes shut, jerked, and Augus pulled his hair roughly in response, ‘to know that you’ll give this to me.’

‘You’re _taking_ it, you feral, power mad, evil cre- _Ah.’_

Augus moved his finger back and forth roughly, and Gwyn pressed his face into the bed, or tried to. Augus’ grip on his hair was unforgiving.

It was happening too fast. His hips were half off the bed, his cock was filling against the blankets so fast it hurt. He tried to push himself up to his elbows and Augus upset his balance, shoving in so hard with his finger that the pain of it distracted him. Augus stepped between Gwyn’s legs, making it harder to get leverage.

‘This wasn’t-’

‘-The plan?’ Augus interrupted him, sliding out and coming back with two fingers, groaning softly when Gwyn sketched out a pained, wanting noise. Lust was catching with the light in his torso, turning to a dull thudding in his pelvis. He was hard now, felt raw, exposed. He jerked forwards again and Augus pulled his head back, pressed down and in and found his prostate, yanking a surprised yelp from his throat. ‘The plan is for me to split you open and it’s going fine, wouldn’t you say?’

Three fingers, and Gwyn’s voice locked up in his throat. He had to hold his breath, and he whined when he finally exhaled. Bloodlust guttered like a candle. He tried to push himself up again, reached behind him blindly to grab at Augus. But the fingers that spread inside of him, invasive and leaving him full and open, were constant distractions.

Gwyn bared his teeth at the bed, tried to get leverage for himself yet again, and Augus responded by tapping his fingers up against Gwyn’s prostate. Gwyn’s legs went limp, his focus scattered and he whimpered.

Gwyn’s lust was threatening to overtake him. His cock chafed where it pressed against the blankets. He wanted to take, be taken, wanted everything at once and his sore hands scraped fretfully against the bed, another burning pain that overlaid atop the sensations inside himself.

Augus worked him open thoroughly. Every movement rode the edge of too much. Too firm. Too hard. Too fast. Fingers spreading too far at his entrance. It was addictive, and Gwyn growled in frustration. He’d wanted to _win,_ and Augus was demanding something very different from him.

Gwyn could feel his will slipping.

When Augus slid his fingers out, Gwyn pushed himself upright as much as he could, trying to slide sideways. Augus widened his stance, making it harder to move. Gwyn growled, and Augus growled back, sliding an arm under his belly, yanking him back. Augus was always so much stronger than he looked.

Gwyn bit at his lips when he felt Augus’ cock hard between his ass cheeks, sliding in the lubricant that Augus had already slicked onto himself, onto Gwyn.

_Did he plan this?_ Gwyn blinked, dazed, then muffled a sound into blankets when Augus’ other hand palmed the centre of his back with a tenderness that belied the way the inside of his ass burned, the way his cock pressed into the bed, leaking precome.

‘I shouldn’t have doubted you,’ Augus said, leaning forwards and sliding his cock up and down. ‘Should I? No matter. You can lord it over everyone else – literally – but I think we all know where you belong, don’t we?’

Gwyn started to protest when Augus angled himself properly, then pushed inside of him. A single syllable escaped him, then he forgot how to breathe as Augus pressed deep without pause, filling him beyond what he was sure he could take. When Augus’ hips pressed flush with his, Gwyn was trying to tear at blankets, dragging them up and towards them, rucking the bed.

Augus crooned at him, a low hum of noise that was supposed to be soothing. Gwyn’s nerves felt as though they’d been lit on fire. One of Augus’ arms stayed wrapped low around his pelvis, wrist between his cock and pelvis. He dragged him back in rhythmic, rocking movements, Augus’ cock making room inside of him. The other came up and wrapped around Gwyn’s good shoulder, Augus’ palm resting at the top of Gwyn’s chest.

‘Oh, this is somewhat familiar, isn’t it?’ Augus purred, rocking back and then snapping his hips forward so sharply that Gwyn’s mind blanked at the blast of sensation that moved through him. He went limp in Augus’ grip, gasped air back into his lungs. Relief coursed through him alongside the quietening bloodlust. There was a time when he never thought he’d have this again. A time when he was underfae and he’d only had memories that he wouldn’t let himself think about. He didn’t know how long he’d have this now, how long Augus’ patience or attention would last, but he was greedy for what Augus was giving him now.

‘Don’t stop,’ Gwyn gasped.

Augus rocked forwards with increasing force, keeping his movements slow but precise.

‘I’d like to see you make me,’ Augus breathed.

Augus dug his claws into Gwyn’s chest, into his pelvis, and rent long, bloody lines into his skin that dripped blood immediately. Gwyn shouted, pain flashed through him, drawing broken noises through his throat. Augus shifted his hands and did it again, turning Gwyn’s body into an instrument for his desire to hurt. And Gwyn _hurt._ He keened, his upper and lower body wet in Augus’ scratching grip, cruel claws piercing through skin, Gwyn feeling as though that outer barrier meant nothing at all when Augus was near him.

‘All praise...that King status,’ Augus said, a tremor of arousal in his voice. His cock kept moving into him in that precise, measured manner. Firm and demanding, but not uncontrolled.

Tears had come to Gwyn’s eyes. He shook his head against rumpled blankets, trying to reconcile the pain with the overwhelming pleasure of it. Augus’ fingers turned soothing against his skin and Gwyn moaned. At some point he’d started rocking back into Augus’ thrusts, but he faltered at Augus’ touch, heat and sparks a softer swirl within. Now that it had receded from its peak, the light was far more forgiving than it used to be.

Augus had taught him that.

_‘Gods,’_ Gwyn sobbed, pulling blankets around his head.

Augus reached up with a bloodied hand and drew them away, stroking his fingers across Gwyn’s ear, through his hair.

‘You make it hard to know what to do, sometimes,’ Augus breathed.

Gwyn’s eyes opened, vision blurred with tears. Augus had said that to him before. The very first time he’d taken him, hundreds of years before. And then the first time he’d taken him in the Seelie Court.

‘But I think I know now,’ Augus said, a smile in his voice.

Augus pressed his clothed chest to Gwyn’s back, canted up until his cock was in as far as it would go and Gwyn’s voice squeaked out of him. Until Augus’ mouth reached his ear; damp, dripping hair tangling with his.

‘Are you going to come for me?’ Augus said, a softness in the playfulness of his voice. ‘I think you are.’

Gwyn nodded. He was close. Sensation upon sensation was layering on top of him, the gentleness of Augus’ touch with the fact that he felt split upon his cock, the heaviness of Augus’ chest upon his back and the individual claw marks rending his torso, sending aching, burning pain through him. Even the ache of his shoulder, the fainter ache of his hands where they clenched.

He unclenched one of those hands with effort and reached up awkwardly, curling his fingers around Augus’ head, pressing Augus’ face closer to his. He turned towards him, panting. His lower body balanced precariously near orgasm, he was so _close._

Augus made a small, surprised sound, then pressed his face even closer.

‘You know you do, don’t you?’ Augus said, voice turning fierce. ‘You know you belong to me.’

_‘Yes,’_ Gwyn choked.

‘Good,’ Augus ground out, hips undulating against him again, picking up the rhythm.

The movements were slight, but they were enough. Gwyn’s whole body locked up as he felt turned inside out. Light turned the inside of his mind white as he came, spasm after spasm shaking violently through his body, making him clench hard against Augus, who kept rolling his hips against him.

He dragged the blankets back to his face when Augus adjusted his stance, slid backwards and started a rhythm that was harder, that matched Augus’ own needs in that moment – slow but forceful long strokes. His whole body ached. He moaned brokenly, and Augus rubbed at his hip before gripping it and continuing.

Gwyn felt oddly settled, despite the turbulence of what was happening. He tightened against Augus when his concentration came back to himself. Augus groaned, so Gwyn did it again, wincing at the same time. He’d been roughly used, and even squeezing back against Augus was dully painful.

After that though, it didn’t take much. Augus’ hips pressed deep into his and Gwyn whimpered as Augus’ cock expanded slightly inside him as he came. He turned his head to the side, still panting. Augus above him was silent except for the odd, faint shaken breath.

Augus shifted, moved his arm from underneath Gwyn’s pelvis, stayed inside of him even as his head lay alongside Gwyn’s.

Gwyn opened his eyes and Augus was watching him, green eyes bright.

‘Kiss me?’ Augus said, smirking.

Gwyn frowned at him.

‘Did you trick me into taking off my own armour, so you didn’t have to?’

Augus’ expression transformed from a smirk into his genuine smile. It showed no teeth at all.

Gwyn huffed under his breath, leaned forwards and pressed his lips to Augus’. He was glad that Augus seemed to like this, for all that he didn’t understand why. He lingered, tasting clean water, the faintest hint of silt. He dragged his lips across Augus’ and then closed his top and bottom lip around Augus’ bottom lip, simply holding it there. He closed his eyes, exhaled slowly through his nose. He was sore, but his King status meant that he was already healing. He’d need to remember to eat later.

Since the trows were now newly in the employ of the Court, the variety of food available had already broadened considerably. Gwyn hummed against Augus’ lips.

They stayed like that for some time. Augus’ eyes closed, their lips pressed together in slow, sweet kisses, Augus inside him and Gwyn’s blood oozing into the bed beneath them.

*

A day later, Gwyn and Augus had hardly left their room. Augus had gone to gather some food from the trows, Gwyn had left briefly to talk over their encounter with Albion with Gulvi. Ash was – apparently – up in the human world and didn’t plan on returning for a week.

They’d both showered. Gwyn had kicked the armour into the dead corner of the room so it wouldn’t get in the way. The scratches on his belly, across his chest, had already knitted into thin grazes. He constantly touched the marks, amazed at how quickly he was healing. He used to take it for granted, but the scar at his shoulder made that impossible now. He still held out hope that he might find something to help his shoulder. He’d found so many miracles for others, he was fixed on the idea that he could find something for himself. If he considered any other alternative, his mind became a seething coil of vindictive rage.

It was early evening when Gwyn and Augus sat cross-legged on the bed, facing each other. Augus wore a casual, long-sleeved shirt that wicked water away. He had his mane swept over one shoulder, waterweed glistening healthily between strands of hair. Gwyn let Augus dress him in a nicer, button up shirt with a collar. Augus seemed to enjoy finding him clothing to wear, and Gwyn was surprised to note that Augus seemed to match clothing to what he thought Gwyn would like. It just seemed to be a more formal version of everything Gwyn normally wore.

Gwyn felt as though they’d found a small pocket in amongst the madness. He could feel a meteor shower nearby, wished he was beyond the Unseelie Court and able to see it, but he wanted to stay in the space they’d created for themselves.

They’d been talking over all sorts of subjects. Gwyn loved listening to Augus talk about his lake, his plans for the environment. Apparently there was a particular beech tree that Augus found to be finicky and ailing, but thought he could bring back with enough care and presence. Augus talked about it for almost twenty minutes, and Gwyn had watched him splay his fingers on the bed as though able to touch the bluebells he was predicting would arrive in spring, with a faint smile on his face.

But Gwyn had some things he also wanted to talk about, that had been playing on his mind. He took a deep breath before bringing one of those subjects up.

‘I am not sure how you are going to incorporate your craft into your responsibilities as Inner Court, but I would like to think that you would make the time to...continue to see clients.’

Augus looked at him, brow furrowing.

‘I hadn’t given it much thought. You wish for me to keep taking on clients?’

‘Augus, you saved my life,’ Gwyn said. ‘That day I came to you, you saved me. You have saved others. Who would I be to stand in the way of that?’

Augus nodded slowly, looked contemplative. His expression shifted to something harder to read. Gwyn waited patiently. He was concerned that once Augus started seeing clients again, he would realise that he was bored with Gwyn, that he didn’t need him anymore. Perhaps Gwyn had only been a good alternative while Augus literally had no choice in the matter, when he couldn’t see a diversity of clients with different needs. Even so, Gwyn still couldn’t bring himself to stop Augus from his vocation. He already felt bad enough that he’d asked so much of him as Inner Court, but he wanted Augus as an interrogator.

‘Alright,’ Augus said, almost to himself, ‘I think we need to have this discussion now.’

Gwyn’s fingers dug slightly into his knees. Augus noticed, he looked at Gwyn’s hands and then met his eyes, his expression sombre.

‘I am not particularly interested in taking on any clients as I used to, at this time. I’ll be busy enough, and perhaps it’s time for a change. When I feel like it again, we will talk about it then. In the meantime, if we’re talking about who can fuck who, I have some rules, Gwyn. I am the Each Uisge, I am territorial, and I do not permit you to lay with others carnally. You are not to get drunk and give yourself over to anyone else but _me.’_

Gwyn stared at him, but Augus wasn’t done. He held up a finger.

‘There is only one condition where this doesn’t apply. Which is when you are consumed by bloodlust after a battle. I’d rather you _not_ come and rip me apart, and I doubt you could find me anyway in that state of mind. Only then may you rut to slake your hunger, with the understanding that it’s mindless, and nothing more than a redirection of that bloodlust. But everything else, Gwyn. For everything else, you come to me now. Do you understand?’

This wasn’t how he’d expected the conversation to go. He shifted, uncomfortable. Augus was watching him with that strange, unblinking gaze that he got sometimes. Gwyn knew there would always be aspects of Augus he would never understand. He hadn’t expected this. Exclusivity was rare amongst the fae. He still didn’t know how he felt about being asked not to get drunk and give himself away to others anymore.

Augus didn’t understand. When the urge overcame him, he _needed_ that.

‘And...you?’ Gwyn said, his voice turning faint. ‘What about you? Will you be laying with others? Outside of your craft?’

‘I doubt it,’ Augus smirked. ‘Track record suggests that outside of clients, it’s not likely.’

Gwyn sighed quietly in relief.

They lapsed into silence for some time. He couldn’t speak for Augus, but he was growing more accustomed to their silences. It was novel, not to be around fae who felt the need to talk all the time. The only other ones he’d really experienced it with were some of the more taciturn soldiers. Many of the fae who frequented the Court interpreted silences poorly.

Gwyn found himself thinking of the time he overheard Augus singing. He smiled to himself.

‘What are you thinking?’ Augus said, and Gwyn looked up, shrugged a shoulder.

‘I was thinking how lovely your voice is when you sing,’ Gwyn said.

Augus’ eyes widened, then narrowed in anger. Gwyn sat up straighter as Augus stiffened. He’d said something wrong. He frowned.

‘It was an accident- I didn’t mean to hear you...only that I did, and you sounded-’

‘You had no right to do that!’ Augus hissed, and Gwyn stared at him, wide-eyed. ‘That’s _mine._ No one’s heard it except Ash!’

‘It was an accident, Augus!’

But Augus looked alarmed, enraged. He started to slide off the bed, and Gwyn’s heart thumped a horrified beat at him. The day had been an unexpected haven, and he was loathe for it to finish this way. He moved across the bed, tried to grasp at Augus, who jerked out of his way.

‘Augus, wait. _Wait._ I am sorry. I’m sorry. I know what it’s like to have something private that you don’t want other people to know. To have...things that you only want to be yours. And I don’t mean being Unseelie, or having the light. Okay? I do understand.’

‘ _What_ do you understand?’ Augus spat. Gwyn became painfully aware just how much of Augus’ life was spent alone, away from others.

‘I’ll keep your secret,’ Gwyn said, earnest. ‘I...I _know_ , Augus. I also- I used to- I used to wander through the forest sometimes, when I was younger, and sing to myself. I never wanted anyone else to hear me. It was between me and...the forest.’

Augus stared at him.

‘You _sing?_ And not just rousing, awful war songs?’

‘They are rousing, awful war songs. I just sing them...differently, when I’m alone.’

Gwyn was blushing now. He felt it on his cheeks, his ears, even on his neck. He hadn’t expected to reveal this much. He hadn’t done even done it in decades. He hadn’t felt inspired to.

‘Do it, then,’ Augus said. Folding his arms, facing him.

Gwyn stared, blood draining from his face. He shook his head, mute. His voice wasn’t like Augus’. It wasn’t naturally melodic. He could sing, certainly. Aspects of his training and education when he was younger covered that – his father had said that no Welsh fae would leave the An-Fnwy estate unable to play at least one instrument and sing. Gwyn had chosen – and failed at – the crwth, and he’d learned the basics of singing from a tutor. But he used his voice quietly on his own. It wasn’t the strident voice they’d wanted for songs of patriotism, of war.

‘Will you sing for me, please?’ Augus said, his voice softening. His expression had shifted from doubt and defence, to something open, curious.

Gwyn could feel his own heart inside his chest, an uncertain beat.

He had, after all, eavesdropped on something very private. Seeing Augus raw and vulnerable like that had ripped something open inside Gwyn’s own chest, made him realise how he felt for him.

‘Can you...?’ Gwyn looked towards the door. ‘Can you wait out there?’

Augus pursed his lips, then nodded. He left the room, left the door ajar. A moment later Gwyn heard:

‘There’s no one here, if that helps.’

It did help, but not much.

Gwyn didn’t want to sing within the walls of the Unseelie Court when he’d only ever done it in forests before, where the leaves and bark and breezes would capture his voice and twist it away to nothingness. He didn’t want to sing for Augus. He knew that Augus was asking, in part, to balance their situation. But he worried for what Augus might say about it. How easily cutting he could be. Augus who could make plants and flowers grow just by willing it, who sang naturally to the land around him even when he wasn’t using his voice, he would see through Gwyn’s lack of grace, he might have no patience for it.

He cast his mind nervously around for a song. In the end, the only thing that came to him was a song that his soldiers used to sing around the campfire when they were well into their cups. A ballad about a Seelie and Unseelie fae who fell in love on the battlefield, while their swords rang against the other. It was a common enough tune, lending itself to the drunken moments of soldiers wanting something more of romance in their lives. It – like so many of their songs – had a tragic ending.

Gwyn opened his mouth, closed his eyes, but nothing came out. His breath caught in his throat, his lungs felt empty.

He took a deep breath, placed his fingers over his eyes, looked down at the bed. He began to sing.

His voice was quiet and deep – he’d always typically taken the baritone parts of war songs when leading soldiers into battle. But in forests – away from the fray of battle, away from a campfire – he shaped the words carefully, approached the melody like a wary animal.

He fumbled a line, stopped singing, expected Augus to mock him.

After several beats of hearing nothing at all, horribly tense, he picked up the verse again, thinking that he’d experienced actual torture worse than this. His hands shook.

His voice shook.

He sang the chorus, planning to stop once it was finished. He didn’t think he could bear singing the rest of the song.

Gwyn’s eyes widened when he heard it; Augus’ voice matching the lyrics, singing from behind the door.

His voice faltered to silence. Augus’ did too. There was a pregnant silence. Gwyn’s mouth and lips were dry.

Augus picked up the tune again, and Gwyn followed it himself, hands dropping from his face and staring at the ajar space between the door and door-frame. He could see nothing past it except the darkened corridor of the Unseelie Court.

Augus’ voice was gentle as he sang the lyrics, guiding Gwyn into the next verse. But of course Augus would know the lyrics too. It was one of the songs that was common to both alignments, after all.

Their voices complemented each other. Gwyn’s deeper voice to Augus’ faintly higher one. When Augus harmonised with him on the chorus, Gwyn’s eyes began to burn and his voice choked away to a stop.

He heard Augus shift, and licked at his lips to wet them. Augus leaned into the door a minute later, hanging onto the door handle as he swung slowly back into the room. The corners of his mouth were turned up, there was something unreadable in his eyes.

‘You’re good,’ Augus said, and Gwyn blinked rapidly and looked away.

It felt horrifically intimate. He felt as bared before Augus as he had the night Augus had shown him gentleness in that relentless, endless manner. He felt seconds away from running, leaving the Unseelie Court completely.

‘Oh, sweetness,’ Augus said, his voice careful. Gwyn shook his head. The worst part was how good it had felt. Something so small, it left him with awful thoughts of love and fated relationships and he couldn’t, he _couldn’t_ do that to himself. He _knew_ none of this would last. It was all precarious, unstable. _All_ of it.

‘Can we do that again, one day?’ Augus said, keeping his voice light, easy.

Gwyn nodded, lost for words.

‘But not now,’ Augus said, stepping towards the bed again. He crawled onto it smoothly, knelt in front of Gwyn. Took the hands that had fallen into his lap. ‘My wild, shy creature.’

‘Can we leave for a while?’ Gwyn said, looking around the room nervously. ‘A forest? There’s a meteor shower happening nearby. It might please you?’

‘A meteor shower?’ Augus said, looking confused. He opened his mouth to keep speaking, but Gwyn had already reached out for him. They wouldn’t be more than a moment, and the forest was secluded. Augus had his invisibility, Gwyn had his light. Fear flickered in him as it always did, but impulse took over and he transformed them both into light.

*

They landed within a copse of trees, the canopy bowing over them protectively. Gwyn, grateful for his King status and his enhanced senses, could tell no fae were nearby. He let go of Augus’ arm and pointed up at the sky.

Augus followed his gaze and made a small, unimpressed sound.

‘I don’t see a th-’

The meteors had been moving patchily, and a new burst of activity started, several meteors moving visibly across the sky at once. Gwyn smiled up at them. He gave Augus a satisfied look, his nerves fading away. This was a trick he’d shown to soldiers before, and he never got tired of this moment.

Augus stared up at them, mouth hanging open.

‘You...’

He tore his gaze away from the sky and stared at Gwyn, pupils dilating. Gwyn scented Augus’ fear then, siltier and muddier than his normal scent. Augus pointed up at the meteors, staring back up at the tiny streams of light, rocks flaring as they entered the atmosphere.

‘How did you know this was happening? Your astronomy research?’

‘No,’ Gwyn said, shaking his head. ‘I can sense when they’re close. I’ve always been able to do it. I don’t notice, most of the time. But this is near the Unseelie Court, and it’s been a few hours now. It niggles, a little.’

‘You _sense_ them,’ Augus said, and the tang of fear in the air grew sharper.

‘Is that a bad thing?’ Gwyn said. ‘The soldiers used to think it was a decent trick around the fire. No one made anything of it.’

‘Gwyn, you can _sense..._ things in space? And you’re a light fae. And your light is destructive. Oh, by the gods. Fuck. You’re not. You _can’t_ be. There are _no_ celestial Unseelie fae. There has _never_ been an Unseelie that was a celestial fae. There’s just no-’

Augus stared up at the sky again, and Gwyn stared up also, looking at the constellations. Nothing was close enough now to burn up as it fell into the earth’s orbit. Gwyn felt stunned. He wasn’t a celestial fae.

They were rare. And strange. And always _Seelie._

Most died terribly young, destroyed by their powers.

_Like you almost did, when you let your powers loose at the An-Fnwy estate._

Gwyn blinked, staring at Augus in shock.

‘It makes so much sense,’ Augus breathed. He took several deep breaths, a hand coming up to his chest.

‘Celestial Unseelie fae don’t exist,’ Gwyn said, shaking his head. ‘It’s something else.’

‘Really?’ Augus said, raising his eyebrows. ‘Do you _think_ so, after giving it some thought? You’re already classless. You’ve broken enough rules in this world already, Gwyn ap Nudd. Do you really think it’s impossible?’

‘Why does it matter?’ Gwyn said. ‘It doesn’t matter!’

‘Gwyn, listen to me. Listen _._ You are Unseelie. You are classless. You are a celestial Common fae. You’re not meant to exist. You’re an _anomaly._ Someone...something is _messing_ with you. Has been messing with you from the _beginning._ You are not a coincidence, Gwyn ap Nudd. Someone like you? Listen to the list, tell me what you think: Unseelie, classless, celestial, who has an open debt with a god, who breaks Old Lore, oh, and let’s not forget has been King of _both_ Kingdoms. _’_

Gwyn swallowed around the dryness in his throat.

‘I spent so long trying to find out what kind of light fae you were,’ Augus muttered to himself. ‘ _So_ long. I even read human books on the physics of _light,_ which were useless. I never considered you might be celestial, but you break all the rules, don’t you? How did you draw the attention of something powerful enough to mess with you like that before you were born? How did your family?’

Gwyn looked at the forest around them. The leaves swayed gently in a cool breeze. The trees grew as they always did, slowly and with great endurance. The ground beneath his bare feet was dry, a hint of dampness beneath. The world smelled of rich loam, of animal musk and the faint mould of leaf litter decaying by thickened tree roots.

The world was doing what it always did, and within it, they were just two more wild creatures. He let himself turn his fears over to the forest.

Gwyn laughed, shaking his head.

‘I don’t care.’

Augus blinked at him.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Augus, I don’t care. Crielle, I’m sure, isn’t done with me. Albion wants to ruin the Unseelie Court and likely the Kingdom. You jump at shadows. Neither of us sleeps as often as we should. Augus, can we deal with this later?’

‘Gwyn, you can’t be serious. You need to find out why you’ve been targeted, and what someone intends for you, because-’

‘But it’s too late now, isn’t it? And I find I don’t care,’ Gwyn said, smiling and looking up at the sky. He realised it was true. Give it an hour, perhaps even twenty minutes, and he could panic again; but he was outdoors, Augus was with him. Augus was Inner Court status, protected by a Soulbond, and there were no fae nearby to bother them. They sky was singing louder than it usually did, and his light quietly thrummed inside of him.

‘You will,’ Augus said.

‘Not today.’

He reached for Augus and dragged him closer, a glimmer of true wildness inside of him. He stared down hungrily, wanting to wipe away the odd worry in Augus’ eyes. He leaned down and kissed him, fingers tightening over his arm.

‘We’re going with denial then, I take it?’ Augus whispered against his mouth.

Gwyn smiled against Augus’ lips.

‘It’s actually a pleasant evening, Augus. Stop trying to thwart it. It’s done nothing to you. It doesn’t deserve your wrath.’

Augus made a sound of exasperation against Gwyn’s mouth, bit his lower lip spitefully before licking into his mouth and sliding his tongue along Gwyn’s, angling their mouths until their lips met, exhaling through their noses. Augus cupped a hand over the side of Gwyn’s face, resting his thumb on his cheek, claw-tips by his ear. His other hand curved around his neck. Augus’ other thumb was close enough to his throat that his heart stuttered uncomfortably in his chest before it found a steadier beat.

Gwyn rested his hand carefully against Augus’ side, not looking up as rocks fell into the sky above them, burning up into light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading _Game Theory!_ The adventures of Gwyn and Augus continue in [The Court of Five Thrones](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1749290/chapters/3737456). (Find me on [Tumblr](http://not-poignant.tumblr.com/), or subscribe to my author name or the series itself, to be updated). 
> 
> Enjoyed this piece of fiction? Have something to say about it? [Please consider leaving a review or rating over at Goodreads.](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22523474-game-theory)
> 
> *
> 
>  
> 
> **Notes on the Sequel**
> 
>  
> 
> The sequel will be an entirely original work, which means there will be no more references to the Guardians, centres, the Nightmare King and so on. New original characters have been developed, to fit into the Fae Tales verse, still leading to the same position Augus and Gwyn find themselves in within _Game Theory_ and the sequel. I will be writing with those new original characters in mind. This may feel a little jarring, but I’m hoping to make this transition as smooth as possible. 
> 
> *  
>  **Acknowledgements**
> 
> It’s very tempting to write a long list of names of people I’m grateful to, but there’s so many, and I know I’ll miss a great deal. 
> 
> So I’ll keep it short: I don’t know what the future holds for me as a writer, but I have an increased confidence in the possibility that I can make this work and that is significantly in thanks to all of you who have contributed your feedback in some way to this story; whether it’s a single hit from reading, kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions, messages and posts and cosplay and fanart and fanmusic and animation, and the comments that I treasure so much. 
> 
> Thank you, all of you.

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